


nothing left to lean on (don't leave me in the dark)

by bravestyles



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Canon Compliant, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:20:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21725149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravestyles/pseuds/bravestyles
Summary: When Louis stubs out his cigarette and checks his phone, he's met with messages from almost everyone he's ever talked to. He isn't surprised; his phone had been vibrating almost non-stop since management released a statement. ("It is with a heavy heart we inform everybody that Louis Tomlinson, a vital member of Modest!'s family, has recently come forward with allegations against Simon Cowell. Tomlinson brought to our attention that during his time spent on the X-Factor, Cowell repeatedly forced him to give and receive undesired sexual acts. Modest! will continue to support Louis and we applaud him for his bravery, and have cut all ties with Cowell. During this hard time, we hope everybody will respect Louis and the rest of the Tomlinson family as they pursue legal action. Thank you.”)or,Louis and Harry were sexually abused by Simon Cowell during their time on X-Factor. Years later, Louis comes forward with it.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 26
Kudos: 233





	nothing left to lean on (don't leave me in the dark)

**Author's Note:**

> this is a complete work of FICTION. i am not claiming this happened or that i know the characters involved. please don't send/share this to anyone involved either :)  
> title from 'fighter' and 'good luck, kid' by joseph.

It's much too cold outside to not be wearing anything other than boxers and a t-shirt, but Louis finds himself sitting on the front porch of his childhood home at twenty-five in just that with a cigarette in his left hand anyways. It's almost gone, although, he hasn't noticed. He doesn't care about the lack of warmth the night brings, or his fading cigarette, or even the fact that he’s ruined more than just Simon's life today. Not yet, anyways.

As he studies the streets of Doncaster, he hates himself a little for coming home after his meeting with management. This used to be a safe space for him, where he never allowed himself to be unhappy in. Yet, he sits here, exhausted from crying so much today, silently wishing for so many things that were out of his reach. He has destroyed the happy atmosphere.

He should've gone to his home in L.A.. He lives alone, though, and he didn't think he could handle the silence. Here, there's people who love him and who are trying their best to help him heal. There's people like his mum who gives the best hugs. There are his siblings who are still young and innocent and help him take his mind off things. The only good thing that L.A. offers that home doesn't is the giant collection of alcohol he has stored in his kitchen.

Louis feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He freezes for a moment, wondering if it’s Harry on the other end of the text. He knows Harry has found out by now. He also knows Harry is angry -- _livid -_ \- that Louis came forward, because they both promised each other they would never tell a soul outside of their family, close friends, and the band. 

But Louis couldn't keep it inside anymore; the secret was becoming too large in his chest, it started to rip away at his seams. He couldn't keep quiet anymore. Harry was able to move on by not talking about it, but the thing keeping Louis from moving on was just that: not talking about it. So, Louis finally talked about it, seven years later. He talked about it with management, who were strangely sympathetic and polite, who then talked about it with the entire world. 

As of eight hours ago, the whole world knew Harry and Louis' secret. Even though Louis kept Harry's name out of it, he knows he will still feel the heat of it. By calling out the all-powerful Simon Cowell for sexually abusing him as a teenager, every single person Simon had ever worked with would be put under question. They'll be articles written, calling out their names, waiting to hear them say ' _me too_ ', Harry and his band included. He has almost literally ripped open old wounds for Harry, and the thought makes his stomach twist. 

Back then, on the first tour after they escaped X-Factor, Harry was the one who was a mess. He was good at hiding it from the public, but Louis and the rest of the band knew Harry was struggling to keep his head above water. They were the only ones who noticed how Harry flinched whenever he shook somebody's hand, how hard it was for Harry to look anyone in the eye. Harry was absolutely broken, having been crushed under Simon's boot. Now, it's the opposite; Harry is all stitched up with Louis' needle, all clean and seamless, while Louis' struggling to get out of bed in the mornings, all ran out of thread.

When Louis stubs out his cigarette and checks his phone, he's met with messages from almost everyone he's ever talked to. He isn't surprised; his phone had been vibrating almost non-stop since management released a statement. (" _It is with a heavy heart we inform everybody that Louis Tomlinson, a vital member of Modest!'s family, has recently come forward with allegations against Simon Cowell. Tomlinson brought to our attention that during his time spent on the X-Factor, Cowell repeatedly forced him to give and receive undesired sexual acts. Modest! will continue to support Louis and we applaud him for his bravery, and have cut all ties with Cowell. During this hard time, we hope everybody will respect Louis and the rest of the Tomlinson family as they pursue legal action. Thank you_.”) As he scrolls through people's names and messages, he finds out Harry's name is not among the list of many who have reached out to him. 

Harry, the boy who he had so quickly bonded with during the show for reasons they didn't know at the time. They didn't know that the other was also called into Simon's dressing rooms and forced to do things that made them feel dirty, but they knew they were alike someway, somehow. Harry, the boy who he fell in love with and who held his heart and hand from after the final live show at X-Factor, all the way to One Direction's hiatus in 2015. Harry, who had broken up with him because he couldn't look at Louis without thinking of Simon, even years later. Harry, the one he promised he wouldn't tell anyone. The one he hurt the most when he broke that promise. The only person in his life he thinks could actually make him feel better right now is the only person who has his back turned to him. And it fucking makes him feel like he could puke. 

There are messages from Niall and Liam. He opens those first, knowing if anybody is going to make his dead heart stutter at least slightly, it's those two. 

Liam: _Proud of you, mate. Love you. If you need anything, just call me. Cheryl sends her love too._

Niall: _Heard the news that ya came out with it. Shocked me a bit, but I'm proud. Bastards like him need to be called out. Wishing you the best, mate. Love you._

There's one from Zayn, too, which surprises him. And it hurts that it surprises him, because before Zayn left the band, they were best friends. All he wrote is, _'proud of you, lou x_ ' and Louis feels the urge to call him, to cry to him and tell him all about how he fucked up because he broke his promise to Harry, but he pushes it down. Him and Zayn don't do that anymore. Zayn used to be a brother to him, and now they are practically strangers. 

Louis knows deep down that if he calls him, Zayn will answer on the first ring. He knows that their conversation would last for hours, and at the end, they both would feel better. He knows that he can still talk to Zayn, and that Zayn's heart would probably break if he knew Louis feels like he can't call him about this sort of thing, but Louis doesn't. He guesses that Zayn is with Gigi, probably on a fucking yacht somewhere, and Louis doesn't want to ruin another person's day. 

There are also messages from people who he didn't know have his number, but he appreciates them nonetheless. They all tell him they're proud of him, and even if he doesn't feel very proud of himself, a part of him deep down knows he has done something good for someone. But still, the same dirty, sticky feeling he had after he left Simon's room is back, and it’s suffocating him. 

A new message from someone he has in his phone as 'Pretentious Fuck', who he then mentally translates to Nick Grimshaw, appears and it makes his stomach flip. Louis knows Nick is close with Harry, close enough that Harry has told him their secret. He knows he has, he could tell you the _date_ Harry told him, because they tell each other when they tell someone new. It's so the other isn't caught off guard if it somehow came up in conversation. Even if they haven't had a proper conversation in a while, they still do it. Their texts to each other now are just infrequent names. Like Harry sent Louis 'Nick Grimshaw' when Harry told Grimmy, and Louis texted back a short 'okay'. It's been like that for too long.

Louis also knows that, if anybody is going to tell him off during this moment, it will be Nick, and he will deserve it. 

He opens Nick's message hesitantly and expects a harsh, brutal ' _you fucking twat, Harry trusted you, and now he's at my flat crying his eyes out,”_ or an uncharacteristic apology. He receives neither of those, though. Just a short and simple, yet so fucking important, _He's at mine. He'll be okay. Hope you will be too._

Louis starts crying again, then. He hasn't stopped doing that since he flung himself into his mother's arms when he got home, that's why he went outside. To calm down. And he’s already crying again. Louis doesn't cry, he hates it, but all the tears he has kept himself from shedding over the years are all spilling out now. He started crying during his meeting with management, too, and the woman he was talking to held his hand. He hadn't met her before, and she still felt so bad for him she _held his hand_. He knows he must've looked like a wreck. 

“I don’t have any proof,” he had choked out, hands and voice trembling. “I don’t have anything other than my word, and I know that’s not how business works, but you have to believe me. You have to. I don’t know what I'd do if you don’t.”

“We believe you,” the woman said immediately. That’s when she grabbed his hand. “We believe you, Louis.”

He hears the screen door open behind him and he sucks in a shaky breath, wiping his tears away in a futile attempt to get rid of them. They keep coming, though, and don't stop when Lottie sits next to him. He looks at his sister with broken eyes and sobs shaking his tiny frame, and she's quick to wrap her arms around him. 

She holds him in silence, something Louis is grateful for. He can't talk right now. Lottie barely even moves, except for occasionally swiping Louis' fringe away from his eyes. She just holds him tight, and Louis cries into her fruity-smelling hair and freshly washed jumper. Her arms stay tightly locked around her brother until his body no longer shakes with sobs, and even then, she holds him. 

"I love you, Louis," she whispers, careful not to send him into another wave of sobs. She doesn't remember a time Louis has cried so much, especially in front of her. This is a first, and she selfishly hopes that it's a last too.

Louis nods into her shoulder, not trusting himself enough to talk. He loves her too; she already knows that, he doesn't have to say it. 

The pair just sit there, huddled against one another for warmth for a long while. His cheek is pressed against her shoulder as he stares out at the neighborhood before him, arms around Lottie's waist. The only noise is the sound of Louis' phone vibrating every few seconds, more messages flooding in. He doesn't know if he can read them anymore if none of them are going to be from Harry.

After thirty minutes of silence, Louis suddenly hates it. His sadness surges into anger, his veins igniting with pure rage, and he abruptly sits up from his sister's shoulder and reaches for another smoke. He lights it, his thumb fumbling with the lighter a few times. He doesn't say anything, is just quietly fuming like a silent bomb, until he stubs the cigarette out next to the previous one. He turns to Lottie who is watching him cautiously and his expression is icy yet burning all at once. 

"How many other kids were there?" he spits out suddenly. "All those years I stayed silent, his list grew longer and longer and longer. And they all have big dreams, so they keep their mouths shut until he asks them to open up. He violated them and told them that without him, they'd be _nothing_. That he could have them kicked off the show so fast, and that he'd make sure they wouldn't ever have a chance with a career. There had to have been more, right? Not just Harry and me. We were nothing special back then. We were just small boys that he could easily take advantage of."

Lottie watches as her brother rants. He is getting progressively more angry, his accent becoming thicker and his words starting to jumble up. She hears them all, though. Every last one. She listens to them all, and even if she can't understand exactly what Louis is feeling or what he had gone through, she can try to. She will try to understand for the rest of her life.

Louis' face twists, his fists clenching. "The first time I got called aside by him I felt special. _Giddy_. He wanted to talk to _me_ , I _must've_ been doing something right. But when he told me to get down on my knees, all those feelings went away. I felt disgusting and scared and -- _fuck_ , I was eighteen. I knew how the world worked. I knew there were creeps out there. But _Harry_. Harry was sixteen, and young, and naive as fuck, and Simon got off on that. Harry's wide, doe eyes filled with fear was enough to tip him over the edge."

Louis bites his lip harshly, closing his eyes as he wills away the image his mind has tormented him with. He is one of the very few people who got to see Harry like that, all naked and vulnerable. Louis was Harry's first -- well, first consensual time -- and they dated all the way to 2015. Louis doesn't think Harry could be with someone else intimately like that. That still, he would have trouble with it. Even during their relationship, Harry sometimes pushed him away and flung himself into a full-blown panic attack. Louis can't imagine him being able to do it with some stranger. 

Point is, there are a very select number of people who have been gifted with the memories of Harry like that, and Simon shouldn't have been one of them. 

Louis opens his eyes again when a new level of calm pushes itself through his body. It's not actual peace, but that type of feeling where all of your emotions completely flat line after going too high for too long. 

With the next words Louis speak, there isn't a trace of anger. He doesn't even flinch as they come out. He says them like he's thought them a thousand times, and it's because he has. He looks away from Lottie, back to the street. He presses his lips into a line before he whispers: "He should die for that. For taking advantage of him. Of _us_. I hope he dies a long, painful death after he sees his career fall to pieces because of me. Because the boy he used and abused finally got tired of hanging on to his secret. I'm the one who has the power now." He takes a small breath. "I would do it myself. Without hesitation."

Lottie doesn't say anything, too stunned to say anything helpful. Louis knows that he’s never said something as heartless as that to any of his sisters before. He usually tries to be so -- so strong for them, for everyone, but sometimes he can’t be like that anymore. And Louis hates just as much as Lottie does to think that Simon has taken so much from him, but he has. It’s the truth. Simon has taken so, so much. Louis fears there is nothing left to take, even years later. 

\- - 

Louis isn't hungry when dinner comes around, but he doesn't have the heart to tell his mum that. She cooked everything, and even set the table, which are both two rare occasions in this household. So he forks the food down, swallowing it down roughly along with all the emotions begging to pour out of him. 

"Have you heard from the boys yet, dear?" Jay asks. She sounds too polite. He hates that his own mother is tip-toeing around him. 

Louis nods, glancing at her briefly, but not looking her in the eyes. "Liam and Nialler have. Gotta love 'em."

Jay frowns. "No Harry? No Zayn?" A faint anger nips at her skin because that's _her son_ and Zayn and Harry have both earned her trust that they'd take care of him. She let her baby run around the world with them, which she wouldn't have done if she knew that only two of them would take care of him.

Louis shrugs. He didn't know Zayn still counted as one of the boys in Jay's mind. "Zayn did," he tells her, allowing the _but not Harry_ to remain unsaid. 

Daisy pops her head up from her dinner plate as soon she hears Harry's name. She's only half-listening, not knowing exactly what's going on. She knows whatever it is is considered grown-up stuff, and that she's still expected to be here for it. "Harry?" she asks, a grin on her face. "He hasn't been here in a while, Lou."

Louis smiles sadly at her. Not only did Harry leave him, but he left the rest of his family, too. Harry Styles doesn't leave from people's lives smoothly. He's someone people try to cling onto even when they know they should let him go because he's truly one of a kind. He leaves a giant, gaping hole in everyone's lives once he's gone, one that can never be filled again. "We broke up, Dais," Louis says, looking down at his plate. "You know that." He tries busying himself by moving around the steamed carrots on his plate.

Daisy scrunches her nose. "Why?" 

On a different day, Louis would have been able to brush it off easily and tell her it’s because they don't love each other anymore. That people grow apart, that times change. But today's not a different day, it's a day where everything hurts fresh and badly, and Daisy's question just about knocks the air out of his lungs. He clings to the kitchen table, his knuckles going white and mind hazy. 

"Because," he chokes out behind clenched teeth, "he couldn't even look at me anymore."

It's true, and it pains Louis to know that. Harry couldn't look at him anymore without seeing Simon, because Louis was still hurting from it and he was the only thing that reminded Harry of it constantly. Harry could eventually see a man close a door during a meeting, or hear the words "good job," or see blue carpet and not think of Simon and feel sick, but when he looked at Louis everything came rushing back to him. 

It isn't Harry's fault, and Louis knows that. He's even proud of Harry, because for once in his life he was acting selfish and did something because it was good for him. Louis just wishes that the thing good for Harry wasn't breaking up with him and breaking up the band because of him. 

"Lou," Fizzy is saying, voice all light and delicate, and _fuck_ , he hates it. None of the women in his family are light and delicate, they’re loud and strong, and he can't handle it.

"Stop fucking doing that," Louis demands. He can feel himself slipping into a panic attack, the edges of his concentration going blurry and ripped. The air in his lungs is vanishing and his head feels awfully light. "Stop -- stop doting on me and telling me how much you love me." Louis stands from the table, ignoring how his younger siblings look scared. Scared of _him_. "I needed all that when it happened. You weren't there then, so don't be here now, on the day I finally did something for myself. This isn't about _you_ , or _Harry_. It's about _me_ , okay?"

With that, Louis practically runs out of the dining room and up the stairs to his room. He shuts the door with shaky hands and he feels like he's going to puke. He does. He barely makes it to the toilet in time. He's crying again.

_Fuck,_ he thinks, clutching onto the toilet's rim. That's all he can think. _Fuck_. 

And fuck is right, because he’s acting like an asshole. Everything that came out of his mouth was wrong and hurtful, and he can't believe he just said all of it. He's defensive, and his whole family knows that he just says shit so they get hurt and leave him alone, but that's not an excuse. 

The only reason his family wasn't there for him the exact moment it happened, _any_ of the times it happened, is because Louis hadn't told them. He didn't tell Jay that the man she kept going on and on about was fucking him with a hand slapped around his mouth to muffle his pleas to stop. Louis knows that Jay feels guilty that she couldn't see it, so how dare he throw that in her face. 

And _fuck,_ today isn't about just him. It's about him, Harry, other victims and their families. His family is hurting too, not because they were sexually abused but because someone they loved was. It takes a village to raise someone, and once that someone gets hurt, so does the whole village. 

He's dry heaving over the toilet, tears mixing in with his vomit, and it's too much. His brain hurts, his heart hurts, his whole fucking body hurts and he hates himself for giving Simon any more of his time. Today was supposed to push Simon out of his life forever, and all it did was pull him in closer. He can practically smell Simon's sweat again.

Louis hears Jay come into his room. She doesn't knock; she never does. He hears her call his name, hears her feet take her to the bathroom. He knows she's standing at the doorway, looking at him but he can't look back at her. 

"I'm sorry," he croaks out, voice echoing as it bounces around in the toilet bowl. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

"I know," she says. Her voice sounds like her own again. He's glad. "I know you are, Louis."

Every time Louis' heart beats, it feels like someone is burning him with the flame of one of his lighters. He knows he's having a panic attack, and he keeps trying to tell himself that he just needs to breath, but it doesn't help. He can't help remembering. Remembering Simon's hands, remembering Harry's sobs, remembering his own pleas, remembering everything. Remembering the murderous look in Zayn's eyes when Louis told him, because besides Harry, Zayn was the first to know. Zayn was always the first to know after Harry. Remembering that he and Zayn don't talk anymore, remembering he doesn't have the band anymore, remembering how hard he tries to forget. 

"Lou, honey, it's okay," Jay tells him, bending down next to him. "For once it's not a lie. _It's okay_. You aren't going to have to see him ever again if you don't want to, alright? He won't be able to hurt anyone else. Ever again. This is the time for you to move on, honey. For good this time, you hear me?"

Louis does hear her. He knows she's right. It helps his chest open up a little, but not all the way. He wonders if Nick is having the same conversation with Harry right now. Probably. 

She sets a hand on his shoulder, and he flinches so badly his whole body moves with it. He can't stand making his own mother feel like he's scared of her. He knows she's probably crying, so he doesn't look up. 

He reminds himself that his break down isn't anything out of the ordinary. He's goes through this almost every day, has since he was eighteen. Talking himself down from a panic attack is as normal to him as examining a room for Harry, which he has also done since eighteen. It's as normal as waking up in the morning and going to bed at night. Louis knows that if it was a normal night in his L.A. home and he hadn't spoken out, he'd still be hunched over his toilet there. That's just how it is for him sometimes. . . all the time.

It's gotten worse since Harry up and left. He always let himself get distracted with Harry's curls and green eyes and dimples. And when he couldn't push down the vomit, Harry was there for him in a heartbeat. The tables turned violently, throwing Harry into Louis' position and Louis into Harry's. It was always difficult whenever that happened, but Harry managed to adapt to it. Even knowing Harry was in the same house, or tour bus, or hotel was enough for Louis to keep a panic attack at bay. Nowadays, Louis doesn't know what continent Harry is on.

Harry is gone, he's making himself look like a fool in front of his family, the whole world is assessing footage of Simon and Louis talking with or about each other, and there's no alcohol to help numb all the bad stuff. 

"I'm fine," Louis huffs out, forcing himself through this once he catches his breath. "You're right. The future's mine now, yeah? Not his. I'll be fine."

Jay nods, carding her fingers through Louis' hair. 

"I think it's going to take some time, though," Louis admits. He flushes the toilet before sitting back, catching his mum's hand in his own before it could fall off his shoulder. "I've spent so long suffering.. I've let myself have countless nights these, and I need to figure out how to. . . I don't know, _live,_ I guess."

He needs to learn how to live, something he's struggled with doing since he was eighteen. He needs to figure out how to move forward. He's going to be fine, and he's going to live. Actually, this time; he's not going to fake it. That doesn't work. He'll learn to live, for real this time.

And if he has to do that without Harry, well. He’ll have to live with that, too. 

\- - - -

The next morning, he doesn't want to get out of bed. He wonders if it is practical, staying in bed all day. His mum will bring him food or tea, anything, really, if he asks. His phone is next to him, if he gets bored or his thoughts get too loud. Phoebe is curled up next to him, so if he needs to talk to anyone, she’s there. Even if she is still too young to fully grasp what is even going on, he knows she would still listen. 

He decides it isn't possible when his bladder tugs at him, telling him to go to the bathroom. He peels away the blankets, careful not to disturb his sleeping sister, and tiptoes to the bathroom. After he’s done, he washes his hands and carefully avoids looking into the mirror. He feels sick. He knows he doesn't look any better. 

When he goes downstairs, he's surprised to see the living room is empty. He knows on a typical day, limbs would be sprawled everywhere, belonging to sleepy kids and his mother and step-dad, all gathered up on the couch, watching something together on the television. He ruined yesterday, and it seems like today is going to be ruined because of him as well. 

He drags himself to the kitchen, where Lottie, Fizzy, and Jay all stand, whispering harshly about something. _Him_ , he realizes when he hears Fizzy spit: "If Louis can convince Harry to come forward, his case would be stronger."

Louis scoffs immediately. "That's not happening," he promises, making his presence known. He drags himself to the fridge, reaching inside to grab the juice carton.

Lottie frowns. "But, Lou -- "

"No," Louis says sternly, giving her a harsh look. "I already feel like a giant arse for going public with it. Harry never wanted to. I'm not going to force him to do anything."

Fizzy is the next to frown. "We know Harry doesn't want to do this, but more people will believe you if he did."

Louis narrows his eyes. He understands they’re trying to help him, but it’s glaringly obvious right now how much they don’t _get_ it. 

"He's been forced to do enough things he didn't want to, hasn't he?" He's getting angry. The protectiveness he has for Harry has never faded throughout the years; if anything, it has gotten stronger. "If people don't believe me, that's fine. I don't want their support. I'm not looking for pity. I'm just -- I can't -- " Louis takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, loosening his grip on the cup he just pulled out from the cupboards. "I just finally need some closure in this, alright? I need to know he won't hurt anybody else, I need to know that Harry and I will never have to see him in another stupid meeting."

He opens his eyes, blinking back tears. He stares out at his family, trying to get them to understand. "All I'm trying to do is take back some of the things I lost because of him. I don't care who believes me."

Jay nods, rushing over to him and enveloping him in a hug. "I love you, baby. I'm so sorry you had to keep this quiet for so long. The future is yours, now, yeah? Like you said. Not his. You'll never give another thing to than man, you hear me?"

Louis nods into his mother's shoulders, abandoning his juice, too tired to cry at the moment. He wonders how long that feeling will last. 

One hour and thirty-seven minutes, he finds out. 

This time, the tears aren't partnered with sobs or lack of air. They’re just there, sliding down his cheeks as he watches the news. He never has been a news sort of person, always finding it boring or not having the time to care, but he finds himself staring at the TV, plopped in the center of the living room couch anyway. It’s like he can’t look away. 

" _Former One Direction star Louis Tomlinson recently came out with sexual misconduct allegations against television personality Simon Cowell. The singer claims that during his days on the X-Factor back in 2010, he was forced by Cowell to give and receive unwanted sexual acts."_

Louis sighs quietly. He hates that phrase, hates the way it minimizes everything. It was so much more than being forced to do things. It was being shoved down to his knees, his knees being scraped by the blue carpet in Simon's office. It was being violated by someone who the world called your _mentor,_ it was having to stare out at him in front of an audience, telling himself not to make it obvious. He continues watching, cringing each time a new picture of him or Simon appear on the screen. 

_". . . statement made yesterday, so far six people have come out against Cowell. . ."_

Louis' head goes blank as he watches the news reporter call out names, each representing another person like him. He doesn't think he wants to hear who they are, scared he might have met one of them personally, but he can't stop listening.

"Louis, you shouldn't be watching this shit," Jay says from the kitchen doorway, hands on her hips. She stalks forward, finding the remote and turning off the T.V. She stares at him, almost looking angry. "You don't watch that, you don't read about it. Anything you need to know, your lawyer will tell you, you hear me?"

Louis nods, but he doesn't quite understand the big deal. If his lawyer is going to tell him anyways, why can't he see it on the news? He thinks he deserves to see the ripple he's created. Ignoring it is like skipping a rock and not counting how many times it hit the water before it plummeted.

Jay sighs, pulling something out of her pocket. His phone, he realizes. "It's been going off like crazy," she tells him, handing it to him. He takes it. "I have half a mind to ask who Nick is, but I won't. Just let me know if you've got yourself a new boyfriend, alright?"

Louis shakes his head at that. He had changed Nick's contact information to just his name, thinking he deserves at least that for taking care of Harry. "Not my boyfriend," he murmurs, twisting his phone in his palms. He doesn't want to look what Nick has to say to him; he's still waiting to be yelled at by him. "More like my ex-boyfriend's new boyfriend."

Jay looks confused by that, yet she doesn't ask because Louis doesn't even look like he knows. Louis assumes Nick and Harry aren't actually dating, but he wouldn't doubt it. They’ve always been closed; he'd by lying if he said Harry and him didn't have at least two arguments before about Grimmy and how much time Harry spent with him. 

Once his mum leaves the room, he opens his messages app and see he has five messages from Nick. 

_Hello_

_Realized I never said thank you for coming out with it. Even though Harry doesn't think you did the right thing now, I know he will eventually._

_How are you doing?_

_I know we aren't much of friends, but I'd be willing to listen if you ever wanted to talk about it. I know everything, as creepy as that sounds. It might help to talk things out with someone you don’t know too well and aren’t worried about upsetting. Don't feel like you have to. Just thought I'd offer._

_Also, he's decent._

Louis bites harshly on the inside of his cheek. _Decent._ Harry's decent. Louis doesn't know what that means. It's too far from okay, but it isn't _absolutely shattered_ so Louis thinks he can live with it. For now, at least.

_Thanks mate,_ is the only thing he sends back. He doesn't know what he's thanking Nick for, though he knows he deserves to be thanked. He knows Nick probably deserves a little more, but that's all Louis has to offer right now, so Grimmy would just have to deal with it. 

He distracts himself by telling himself that Ernst is probably hungry, so he gets up off the couch and finds the toddler. As he shakes his brother back and forth, he winces when he realizes that he is doing it again -- distracting himself. He lets himself, though. He doesn't think he can handle anything bigger than that today.

\- - - -

Three days later, he pukes after a meeting with his lawyer. It went well, and perhaps that is the issue. 

_"Fourteen people have come out against him, Louis,"_ his lawyer, Shauna, told him _. "That's good for us."_

It doesn't _feel_ good. It doesn't feel like that it is a right step towards anything. It feels like he has caused fourteen people to face what happened to them. And maybe he has helped them gain the courage to speak out, but he doesn't feel like he did. He feels like he is ruining everybody's lives, and he wonders how long it will take for Harry to be pulled down with him. 

He should've known it was a bad idea. As soon as his team released the statement, everybody turned their heads to look at the other members. 

Louis and the rest of the world see the messages on Twitter from Niall, Zayn, and Liam, quoting the tweet from management, and tagging his twitter handle next to a short, sweet, impersonal message. Harry stays radio silent, and that's loud enough for everybody in the world to hear. 

He has another panic attack that day. Alone, this time. He refuses to let himself be coddled by anyone because he feels like he doesn't deserve it. He is the one who lit the match, he can handle the heat. 

He calls Zayn that day, too. After he comes down from his panic attack, he says _fuck it_ and calls him. He needs to hear Zayn's voice telling him everything will be okay, because Zayn always had a way of saying that without actually saying it. It was always more of a feeling that Louis was left with after one of their conversations, and he needs really fucking badly. 

"Hey, bro," comes Zayn's voice after the third ring. It isn't the first. Louis' just glad he answered. 

Louis' chest swells up, not knowing what to say. _Zayn is still family,_ he tells himself. _He still loves you and wants the best for you, and he'll listen to you so just talk, you twat._

"Hey," Louis breathes out. He lights a smoke, feels himself calm down a little, even before he brings it to his lips. "I'm sorry, I know you're probably busy being, like, a rock-star and everything."

Zayn doesn't laugh. Louis isn't offended; his voice fell too flat to sound like a joke. 

"Don't be sorry, Louis," Zayn tells him seriously. " _I'm_ sorry you didn't call sooner."

"I wanted to." Louis voice is shaking like a leaf, and he hopes Zayn will ignore it and treat him like a normal person. "Didn't know if I had the place to."

Zayn's quick to respond. "Of course you did. You always will, especially when it comes to shit like this."

"I know, I know. It's just -- I didn't want to suck the life out of your day with my call."

Louis can picture Zayn shaking his head. "I don't have much going on for another few hours. We can talk. About anything."

They do. They talk about anything and everything. About Harry and Simon, and Gigi and Zayn's depression. About Zayn's solo career, about Louis' lack of one. They talk for three hours, and once they've finished Louis is down nine cigarettes and he knows he probably won't talk to Zayn again for another long while. 

He feels a bit better, although he didn't achieve the bursting feeling that everything is going to work out that he had hoped for. If Zayn can’t help him, he doesn’t know what will.

\- - - -

The next day, he feels invincible. He has been reading through people's responses, and almost everybody is with him. There are a few people poking fun at the situation, but he ignores them, which is not typical Louis Tomlinson fashion. He answers the fans that are thanking him and telling him he gave them their voices back, and he feels fucking fantastic. He goes to sleep knowing the monster under his bed is finally gone. He gains a few pieces of himself back. 

\- - - -

Day six is bad. Really bad.

Day six is when he gets a frantic call from Nick while he is upstairs in his room, talking to fans over Twitter. As soon as the name appears on his phone, his stomach drops. 

Louis and Nick have talked back and forth a little the last week or so. More than they ever have before, at least. Small talk, really. Mostly about Harry and how he's doing. Nick is always short with him about Harry, and the conversation he's about to have will probably tell him why.

"Nick?" he asks, voice already shaking. "What is it?"

Nick is breathing somewhat heavily and he keeps his voice low. Harry is probably asleep in his home. "He's really upset, Louis," Nick explains, sounding panicked. "Like, proper I'm-afraid-he's-never-going-to-get-through-this upset. He won't eat, he can't sleep -- he can barely go a minute without crying."

Louis' heart aches. It sounds like the Harry Louis knew after they shared their secret with one another, after they won third place on the X-Factor. Once Harry found out someone knew exactly what he was going through, he gave up on trying to hide from it. He gave up on everything. 

Louis wants to yell at Nick for lying to him, because that doesn't sound like Harry is d _ecent._ But he knows Nick only meant well and he probably had hopes that Harry would snap back quickly. Nick probably thought Louis would never have to know. 

"I'm sorry," Louis chokes out, not sure what to say. 

Nick sighs. 'I'm not -- that's not why I called. I don't blame you, Louis. I just. . he's curled up on my sofa and he's not talking to me anymore, and I'm not sure what to do. I was worried before, and now he's gone completely quiet . . . " Nick's voice trails off. 

Louis doesn't know, either. If you would've asked him how to comfort Harry years ago, he could write you a ten-page paper about it. But now, he doesn't know how to because he doesn't know Harry. He doesn't know if Harry still liked hot cocoa when he is upset, or if he still likes being cuddled under a mountain of blankets. 

"I can drive out," Louis offers, sounding small. He never thought he'd let Nick hear him like this, but Nick is the only one Harry is trusting right now, it sounds like, so he doesn't care. "I can talk to him."

There's a short silence, and Louis knows what it means. _Harry doesn't want to see him_. Harry is pissed at him, and probably thinks he's a monster. 

"I don't think that would help anything," Nick speaks hesitantly. "He's cross with you. Very cross. I'm sorry."

Nick knows how much Harry means to Louis, and how much Louis' heart is breaking with every word he speaks. Harry talks about Louis all the time, every time the two of them hang out. Nick knows Louis Tomlinson inside and out. Nick knows that Louis fears Harry is mad at him, and he is now the one confirming his fears. He does't like Louis much, but fuck, he doesn't like upsetting him, either.

"I shouldn't have called, Louis. I'm sorry."

Louis shakes his head stubbornly. "Don't be. I'm just sorry I'm not much help. Turn on some stupid rom-com, cuddle him up, and. . . And tell him I'm sorry."

Nick sighs again. Louis braces himself for Nick's next words, knowing they'll hurt. "He won't let me touch him, mate. Every time I'm even close to him, he gets all tense and shaky and begs me to go away. It's like he's scared of me."

Louis can't stop the tears at that. He has destroyed all the progress Harry had made, just so he could try to get some control back over his life. Harry is back to being too afraid to touch anybody, and Louis put him there. _Louis put him there._

"I would never hurt him like that," Nick promises, like Louis doesn't already know that. "Never. Just know that. . . he's safe with me, I guess."

Louis nods. He knows that. He also knows Harry doesn't know that. That Harry is probably terrified and likely curled up as tight as possible, hiding himself with a giant blanket. Harry's most likely exhausted, but every time he sleeps he has a nightmare. Louis guesses that Harry hasn't called his mum yet, or talked to anybody other than Nick.

Louis has been Nick before. He knows how it goes.

On day six, he wishes he could go back in time. All the way back to 2010, to the first time Simon took a piece of him away. He wishes he would have told someone, because after a long, painful discussion with Harry, he learned that Louis was the first to be used by Simon. Harry came shortly after. 

If Louis would've spoken up sooner, those fourteen people that came out with their own stories would be safe. _Harry_ would be safe. And Louis’ never, ever forgiven himself for that. 

On day six, the dirty feeling comes back, and it all but eats him alive.

\- - - -

By day ten, a total of thirty people have come out with their own stories against Simon Cowell. Some before Louis, but most after. 

Louis allows himself to be persuaded by his step-dad that he has done the right thing. Dan told him that he understood he feels like he hurt Harry, and let everybody down, but that isn't the truth. The truth is that Simon is the one who hurt Harry, and Louis shouldn't take any responsibility for Simon's actions. 

He feels better and got out of bed a lot more than he has the previous four days. That's a start. All he needs is a spark of light in his dark heart to get the fire started. And once he turns that spark into a fire, he will try to warm Harry's hands with it.

\- - - -

It nears twenty days since Louis' story was plastered on the front cover of magazines everywhere. Louis plans on visiting Harry shortly. He wants to be the one to reach out first, because in the beginning he thought he needed Harry but now Harry needs him and he isn't going to turn his back on him.

According to Nick, who he has never talked so much before in his life, Harry is doing a little better. _He allowed me to hold him last night_ , Nick reported two days ago. _He fell asleep in my lap. My heart about shattered; he looked so young and hopeless. He woke with a start, all sweaty like he had a nightmare. But he didn't flinch too much when I comforted him. This morning, he ate more than just an apple for breakfast._

Today, Louis selfishly asks if Harry has said anything more about him. To his surprise, Nick tells him yes. "He understands why you had to do it. He knows that people cope differently, and that just because he wanted to ignore it, doesn't mean that's what you wanted." There's a moment of silence on the phone before there's a sigh. "He's still pretty hell bent about that bloody promise, though. He told me you shouldn't have made a promise you didn't plan on keeping."

Louis deflates at that, but he tries not to let it get to him. Harry is eating and talking and sleeping and _existing_ again, and that's all that matters. Louis realizes that it probably isn't healthy for him to feel like he can't move on without Harry, though he chooses to ignore that. He refuses to start to properly heal until he knows Harry will start, too. Either Harry will cope with Louis breaking his promise, or Louis will cope with Harry hating him. Louis doesn't think he can handle the latter, so he hopes it doesn't come to that. 

That day, Niall texts him. It's been silent from Liam and Niall both, until now. 

_Hey Tommo . Payno and I are in London . Want to grab a pint ?_

Louis ignores how planned out this is, how he can practically _hear_ Niall and Liam conspiring a date that they can both make it to London by, and he smiles and just texts back, _where._ He briefly wonders if Harry got this text too, but either way he knows Harry won't come, so it doesn't matter. 

The three of them together is refreshing. Niall practically leaps out of his bar stool to give Louis a hug when he spots him, and then Liam joins in, and Louis gains another part of him back. 

"I'm so bloody proud of you," Liam whispers into his ear, breath warm. "You’re so brave, Louis. So fucking -- so strong, God.”

It makes Louis' brain spin, one of the greatest compliments he could ever get. Liam's seen him at his weakest, and that’s how he knows Liam means it. Liam isn't lying; despite all of his weak points, Liam thinks he's _strong_. It means more to him than it should. Probably more than Liam meant it to.

\- - - -

The next day, Louis is woken by a soft hand shaking him awake. He wrinkles his nose and turns over, hoping the intruder will leave him alone. They don't. 

He groans, rolling back over onto his back and peels his eyes open. Phoebe stands next to his bed, a grin on her cheeks. He doesn't reciprocate the gesture. "What do you want?"

"Harry's here," she whispers. Her tone sounds like she had just told her brother that it’s Christmas, and perhaps Harry's arrival is just as special as Christmas is. Harry hasn't visited since they broke up, despite always being welcomed. All of Louis' siblings love Harry. And Harry loves them. And Louis loves Harry. 

He doesn't dwell on the nerves tugging at his heartstrings too much, doesn't let himself, and he ruffles Phoebe's hair. He is good at pretending to be calm. She has no idea his heart is racing and he feels dizzy because _Harry's here_. 

He's scared shitless. He wanted to be the one to reach their hand out first, wanted Harry to know Louis hasn't forgotten about him. He knows Harry probably thinks Louis hasn't even given Harry a second thought, but Louis has. He's given him a second, and a third, and a fourth. He's practically all Louis thinks about. 

Louis knows it's because Harry is always good to think about. Even though Harry broke his heart and probably hates him, Harry's the easiest thing to think about. When he lets his mind wander too far down memory lane, he uses Harry to ground him. When he's sad, he feels a little less lonely knowing Harry is too. 

"Does he seem mad?" His hopeful tone bleeds through. 

Phoebe thinks for a second before shaking her head. "I don't think so. Lotts said he looked skinnier, though." 

Louis nods, pretending like that doesn't hurt. "Go tell him I'll be down in a minute, yeah?"

Phoebe grins and nods running down the stairs while yelling, " _He'll be down in a minute_!" as she goes.

Louis pulls himself out of bed. He doesn't let himself think too much about anything, except _fuck you, Nick Grimshaw. Could've given a guy a warning_ and slides a beanie over his hair, puts on a pair of sweatpants and brushes his teeth. He wants to shower, knowing he doesn't look the nicest considering he's hungover and smells like a pub, but he doesn't want to stall any longer. 

He has a speech he plans on telling Harry, and even if it is two days before he planned on giving it, he still wants to give it to him. He deserves it. Harry deserves to know why Louis couldn't keep their promise anymore.

He feels a bit nauseous as he bounces down the stairs. He's not allowing his brain to fuck things up like they so often do. It's _Harry_ ; he shouldn't be nervous. 

Once he reaches the bottom, he looks out into the living room to see Harry smiling at his mum as she speaks about something, wildly waving her hands. He has Ernie in his arms, and he’s bouncing him on his knee while simultaneously stroking his thumb over the toddler's arm. Phoebe and Daisy are sitting next to him, grinning at him like mad. Louis guesses it’s in their DNA to be head over heels for Harry.

Louis takes a moment to examine him and from doing a quick once-over, he decides Lottie was right: he has gotten skinnier. There are bags under his eyes, as well, and his hair is shoved underneath a beanie, but besides that, he still looks like Harry. He still has those dimples and sparkling green eyes. 

When Harry glances up, he sees Louis standing there. Instantly, his smile drops and his gaze hardens and _wow_ Louis has never gotten that look before. He's seen it before, directed at people who are being too invasive or rude, but he's never been on the receiving end of it. He grips onto the stairs railing, feeling breathless. Harry really does hate him. He knows it.

Jay notices the change in Harry's expression. She follows his gaze his towards her son, and she frowns. "Harry, love, go easy on him, please," she says quietly, but Louis can still hear it. "He's still hurting badly."

Harry stands, handing Ernst to Jay. The toddler makes a disgruntled noise before he gets distracted by his mum's hair. Harry barely acknowledges Jay's plea, which is unusual for Harry. He’s a people-pleaser. "I just want to talk," Harry promises slowly.

Louis nods. He can do that. "We can talk." He motions to the upstairs with his arm. "My room?"

Harry shakes his head. "Can we go outside?"

Louis nods again, leading the way to the backdoor. He feels his anxiety peeking and his thoughts begin to kick up a dust storm in his brain, but he tries to stay calm. Harry follows after him. 

Louis itches for a smoke. Harry is already mad enough at him, though, so he won't grab one. He doesn't need a lecture about that, too. 

Once they get settled outside -- the two of them sitting on the back porch, much too far apart -- it gets quiet. Quiet for Louis means dangerous, so he wants to fill it, but he seemingly forgot his speech and all the words lay unspoken on the tip of his tongue. He can see Harry closer now, he can see that his eyes aren't as sparkly as Louis thought they were. They are dark and swarming with emotion. With hatred.

"You promised," Harry whispers, voice thick. He doesn't look at Louis, knowing that if he does he'll fall a part entirely.

Louis lifts his head, ready to try and explain himself. Harry shakes his head. 

"You promised me," Harry continues, "that you would never go public with it. That what he did to us would stay hidden from the world. You made that promise when I was seventeen and crying in the tour bus because we had to see him again. I told you I didn't want the world knowing because I didn't want anyone looking at me differently, _especially_ when I didn't do anything to deserve being looked at different for." Harry looks at him, eyes accusing. "Now everybody on this planet knows where his hands have been and it's your fault."

Louis wants to grab Harry's hand, but he stops himself. He can't do that, can't be rejected. Instead, he sighs and tells Harry, "I left your name out of it. I didn't even tell management. They asked me, point blank, and I told them no. It was just me. Nobody knows."

"Of course they know!" Harry spits, eyes wide. " _Everybody_ knows, Louis. The fact that they asked you about me _proves_ they know. Lying to me isn't going to change the fact that you broke the one bloody promise I cared about anyone keeping, and now everybody knows I am one of the thirty-some victims of Simon Cowell. They all picture it in their heads. They all see sixteen-year-old Harry Styles getting fucked against his will by the big, bad Simon Cowell. Because of _you_."

"Harry, I-"

"No!" Harry yells, getting onto his feet. " _Nothing_ you say can fix it. I know you hated watching him prance around in suits and ties, but _fuck_ , Lou. I had plans. _I had plans!_ With my life, with a solo career, with moving on. I was _moved on_. And you pulled me right back down, put me in the exact position you promised you never would."

"Fuck that bloody promise!" Louis shouts back, exasperated. He, too, gets to his feet. "That promise is the same one that got kids younger than sixteen-year-old Harry Styles a one-way ticket into a mess they don't deserve. Harry, _I'm sorry_ you weren't ready to come out with it, but _I was_. You breaking up with me after promising me that we had a future together was your last step to healing, and going public was mine. I couldn't keep seeing him on TV, on billboards, working with little kids he was undoubtedly whispering how good they were when the cameras were off. You were able to move on by forgetting about it. I couldn't."

Harry doesn't look any less angry. "So, that's it? You're moved on from it now? Free of it?" he seethes. He knows the answer. He's looking at Louis, knowing Louis' response, already choosing his next words. 

Louis blinks. "Well, no, but it's a step -- "

"So now both of us are back to where we started, then?" he asks, tone mocking. "Gee, Lou. Good one, mate."

This isn't how Louis thought this would go. He thought they'd cry and hug and be okay again, because Harry is Harry. Harry never gets this mad at him. He didn't know this side of Harry existed until now.

"God, Louis. I was doing _so_ good. I was able to go to sleep at night with ease. I got to the point where I could go a whole day without thinking about it. And then out of nowhere, I get a text from Liam that I _might_ want to check management's Twitter. Just like that, I was broken again." Harry curls his fists, impossibly angry. " _You didn't even give me a warning_." His words are coated with acid, each dripping poison. "You were probably too afraid, weren't you? Too afraid to tell me what you were about to do because you knew it was wrong. You knew that once I found out, I'd never talk to you again."

Louis doesn't know what to say. Harry is right: he should've at least given him a heads up. But when he woke up that morning, his only thought was about telling someone important. So he did. Just like that. It wasn't thought out or planned, it just got too much one day. He himself didn't even think too much about it.

"I'm sorry, Haz," Louis whispers, breath caught in his throat. 

Harry laughs. "You fucking should be."

Louis' chest is heaving, his heart racing. He doesn't like this side of Harry. He loves other every side of Harry, up and down and side to side, but he _hates_ this side of Harry. 

"I wanted some closure," Louis tries to explain, feeling light headed. "I wanted -- I _needed_ to move on with my life. I realize, _now,_ how me doing that put a pause on yours, but Harry. I couldn't keep living like that."

"Like what? Being a multimillionaire popstar is too fucking hard for you?"

" _Harry_ ," Louis tries, astonished. "Don't talk to me like that." Louis hates how pathetic he sounds.

Harry just scoffs. "Did I hurt your fucking feelings? Now you know how I feel."

Louis shakes his head. He finds himself looking into Harry's eyes, trying to see if he’s drunk or high on something. He looks normal, though. He just isn't acting like it. 

"I've always known how you feel," Louis whispers, crossing his arms. "I'm the only one who can say that."

Harry's bottom lip wobbles, then. His exterior is breaking, and Louis is almost offended he ever had one with him. Harry has always been open with him, even after they broke up. This isn't how HarryandLouis are. 

Harry looks away from Louis. He sniffles a little. "When I read that tweet,” he whispers quietly, “I instantly felt small again. Small, and vulnerable, and dirty, because everybody knew my dirty little secret. I felt defenseless, like everything was changing. Like nothing would ever be the same." Harry frowns, his fists coming undone. "He's the only one that ever made me feel that way."

Louis feels sick at that, feels like if he was in front of a toilet he could puke for days. He never meant to make Harry feel like that, never wanted to. He just wanted some goddamn peace of mind, something he hasn't had in almost a decade, and he knew that he would hurt Harry in the process of trying to get it, but he never realized how deeply the knife would cut. If he knew this was how Harry would react, he never would have done it. Maybe if Louis had talked about it with him first, instead of blindsiding him, things would've been clearer, but he didn't. He didn't talk to Harry about it, and now he is another villain in Harry's story when all he wanted was to be the hero of his own. 

He does puke, then, even without the toilet. He drops to his knees on the hard cement, heaving up his dinner from the prior night all over his mum's flowers that sit next to the porch. He knows it isn't healthy to be puking when there is nothing physically wrong with him, and he has been doing it quite often lately, but oh fucking well.

When he’s finished, the burning feeling in his throat still doesn't go away. There is nothing left to puke, though, so Louis sits back with a shaky breath and wipes his mouth with the end of his shirt. He sets his arms on his knees, not daring to look at Harry. Louis can't look at him knowing what type of pain he caused him. 

"I'm sorry," Louis croaks. He places his chin on his knee, moving his arms to wrap around his knees instead. "I was just trying to do something good for myself."

Harry quietly sits beside Louis, closer this time, yet still so much farther than he would have a year or two ago. There is still a wedge between them. Despite that, they have made some progress. The other is able to see the other one's side of things, and maybe that wedge will be permanent because Harry doesn't see themselves healing together again.

They will heal separate this time, Harry thinks. There won't be late nights spent holding each other, whispering about the bad things he had done to them. The other won't be wiping their tears. Louis won't be there, in the same flat with him, locking the door at night. They won't be able to get through this part of their lives together. They are adults now, they grew up. 

With a single glance at Louis, Harry suddenly realizes that Louis hadn't healed then. Louis still double checks that his door is locked at night, doesn't he? Louis still thinks about Simon constantly, still pictures his rough hands on Louis' soft skin. Harry might've healed and moved on from it, but Louis is still stuck in the past. He _left_ Louis in the past, and all Louis is trying to do is heal like he helped Harry do years ago so he could explore the future. And Harry had gotten mad at him for that. 

Harry scoots closer to Louis, their knees close to knocking each other. His eyes never waver from Louis' face. "How often do you dream about it?" 

Louis shrugs, still staring straight forward. "Almost every night. . . Sometimes, I don't remember them clearly, but when I wake up I just know he was in whatever dream I had." He digs his teeth into his bottom lip. "You?"

Harry bites his lip harshly before admitting, "Before you went public with it, like once a month." 

Harry feels incredibly guilty. Almost every single night, Louis relives what happened to him at eighteen. Every single night, Louis is plagued by nightmares. 

It doesn't make sense. Louis is the strong one. At least, that's what Harry thought. That's what everybody thought. Louis just handles things better; he copes with big things like break ups, and deaths, and band members leaving easier than Harry does. Harry is sensitive and takes everything to heart, so how had Louis been the one to be stuck on pause for so long and not him?

"It was a dumb promise. I shouldn't have asked you to be quiet,” Harry agrees quietly. “I asked you to do something that was hurting you, and I shouldn't have. We were in love, Louis. I should've been trying to do what made you happy, like you were doing for me. That was my job."

Before Louis can protest, Harry stands up again. He extends a hand out to Louis, when again Louis wanted to be the one to do that for Harry, and Louis takes it. Harry pulls him to his feet, steadying him a bit. He wraps his arms around Louis, engulfing him in a massive hug and rests his chin on Louis' head. 

"I've missed you," Louis confesses, voice muffled by the fabric of Harry's jumper. He can feel his nerves frying, feel them shaking beneath his thin skin. He almost wants to push Harry off, tell him he can't ruin what progress they've made because Louis _will_. He will. He always will, because all he does is weigh people down. Maybe, in a month or two or something, when Louis is better, he can reach for Harry again. But right now, he feels like they should leave off with a short hug and a simple understanding for one another. 

Louis doesn't push him off, he just hugs him tighter. His brain is telling him that this is all he can take for the day, but his heart is finally full again and he can't tell Harry to go because the fullness will go with him. Louis is hungry for the aching, hurting hole in his heart to stay gone, so he selfishly grips onto Harry tighter, knowing that it won't be long until he lashes out at Harry.

As if he can sense Louis' hesitance, Harry squeezes him tighter. "I've missed you, too." He feels Louis' chest heave a bit, like he's trying not to cry and Harry responds by kissing the top of his head. Louis can't help that his heart flutters stupidly; Harry is a lover, he'll comfort and kiss just about anyone to make them feel better, Louis shouldn't feel special; he does anyways. "We'll get passed this, Lou. Both of us, this time. I promise."

\- - 

Harry tells Louis he should get going about an hour later. He says he has to go back to Nick's because he up and left without a word while Nick was at work. Nick sends him a calm ' _where are you popstar?_ ' but both of them know Nick is probably pacing his flat, running his hands through his ridiculous hair with worry. 

Before he goes, he calls Nick to let him know he's on his way back to Nick's flat. _"_ Hey, Nick. . . yes, I'm at Lou's. . . No, nobody hit each other, you idiot." He grins at Louis then. Louis doesn't smile back; it was pretty close to it for a moment. "I'll be home in a little while. . . yeah, I'm fine. . ."

Louis tunes the rest of it out. _Home._ Harry just called Nick's flat home, and it doesn't settle well in Louis' stomach. It lays like a rock in his belly, a giant fucking boulder, and he tries not to let it bother him. He tries to remind himself that of course Harry has found a new home. It's been a while, Louis knows. He isn't Harry's home anymore. 

But, _fuck_. The rock doesn't crumble. 

As soon as Harry's off the phone and standing up for Louis' bed, ready to say goodbye, Louis blurts, "So, you and Grimmy? That a thing yet?" His tone is almost accusing, like _I told you so_. He licks his lips and averts his eyes from Harry for a moment before dragging them back.

Harry doesn't look impressed. He tucks his phone in his pocket and straightens out his beanie, eyebrows furrowed. "I reckon we’ve had a fight before about him, Louis. I don't intend to have another."

"You called his place 'home'," Louis explains, as if that justifies it. 

"I stay by his flat whenever I'm in London. Practically is home." Harry quirks an eyebrow at him, a shadow of a smirk dancing on his mouth. "Sure, we've shagged a few times, but that was after we broke up, so I don't know if that's any of your business."

Louis thinks another rock has formed next to the prior one. He feels bloated with emotion. He doesn't really want to hear more, but he feels like he has to ask, "Why in the hell are you shagging Grimshaw when you can have anyone in the entire world?"

Harry frowns, his smile fading. "You know why, Louis," Harry says slowly, as if trying to remind him. "I know you don't like him, but I've got. . . needs, y'know?" He sniffs, glancing down. "And he's one of the few people I trust enough."

Louis nods. He does know. He was just angry and wasn't thinking properly, lashing out like he knew he was going to. There's bound to be more punches thrown if Louis doesn't let Harry leave like he was going to. Still, tries to make himself look less bad though with a short, "I thought you said you were okay. I didn't know sex was excluded from that." And does that just make him sound more like an ass?

Harry looks upset, like he doesn't want to be talking about this. Like he's embarrassed and insecure that he can't go around fucking anyone who's up for it. He's a popstar with millions of fans; he should be acting like one. It's probably a sore subject for Harry, and Louis feels bad for bringing it up. He's placed that little crease between Harry's eyebrows and the small frown on Harry's mouth and he wants to fix it.

"You don't have to talk about it," Louis murmurs, cheeks flushing. He's sitting on his bed, cross legged, picking at his socks nervously. "I don't know what's off-limits with you anymore." It hurts like salt on a wound because Louis really doesn't know anything anymore. He keeps being reminded of that.

Harry smiles a little at that. "It's alright. Nothing can be off-limits when you're trying to move passed something. Everything has to be open for discussion, until you feel like it doesn't need to be discussed anymore."

Louis laughs, trying to lighten the mood. "Did your therapist tell you that?" he jokes, feeling some tension fade.

He was kidding, but Harry isn't when he replies, "Yes." Before Louis can take more of his words back, Harry's starting to talk. "I've tried to go out with other people. Like, _intimately_? But only once did I actually try to shag someone, and it ended poorly. I can," Harry closes his eyes before opening them again. His eyes are swarming with so many different emotions. "I can, like, kiss other people? That's okay, but anything else and I turn into a sweaty, crying mess."

Louis frowns, uncrossing his legs but not standing up yet. He doesn't want to interrupt Harry. 

"There was this one guy, though." He glances at Louis to make sure he doesn't look disinterested in hearing about his ex-boyfriend's sex life. Harry must decide that Louis looks attentive enough, because he continues. "He was older than me, just by a few years. We'd been seeing each other almost every day for almost, like, six weeks straight. I thought I trusted him enough to take things a step further, but. . . " Harry trails off momentarily. He sighs. "I got my trousers and pants off; I thought I'd be fine. I thought I wouldn't freak out. I had made it that far, you know? And then he wanted to start prepping me, and I just. . . I couldn't. I freaked out. I exploded into tears and I felt like I was going to have a heart attack or something. It was just a panic attack, though, and by the time I came off it he was gone."

Louis' heart swells with sorrow. He gives Harry a sad smile, shaking his head. "He never came back?" _I would've,_ Louis thinks selfishly. _I wouldn't have left. I never left._

Harry shakes his head. "It just sucks, y'know? Because I actually thought I could fall in love with him one day, and I hadn't felt that since you."

Louis is a little shocked that Harry just outright says it, and he wonders if he talks about their break up often. With strangers while drunk, with friends while sober. Louis usually can't bluntly talk about Them like that, always stopping with unfinished sentences or an incomplete thought. Harry, though -- he just talked about Them like. . . like he's moved on. 

"Fuck him then, yeah?" Louis says, voice squeaking slightly. He feels a burst of anxiety go off in his heart. "You don't need someone that can't handle a little baggage. You need someone who'll be patient with you and want to protect you, not some scumbag who runs out after a mini episode."

Harry smiles softly. "Like you?" There's a lining to it, but Louis doesn't allow himself to hope it's anything other than reminiscing on old memories. Ever single thing that Harry says sends a bolt of electricity through Louis' veins, and he's surprised to see he's not shaking like a leaf yet. It's stupid; he shouldn't be freaking out in a fairly normal conversation with someone he trusts, but he is and he can't help it.

He nods jerkily. "Yeah. Or -- or Nick." 

Harry's smile doesn't waver. He doesn't look uncomfortable or like he's squirming, like Louis is. He looks content, and maybe Louis needs to get his therapist's card or something, because he knows as soon as Harry leaves he's either going to vomit or cry, or maybe both. 

"I should go," Harry is saying, as though he could read Louis' mind. Louis wouldn't be surprised if he could; his thoughts are screaming _tell him to leave before you fuck things up_. "Nick is probably talking to the dogs by now."

Louis nods and he stands up finally. This has been good for both of them, and Louis doesn't want his big mouth to ruin more than it already has. But part of him doesn't want Harry to go. A part of him fears that once Harry goes back home to Nick, any chance of him finding home in Louis again will vanish.

Suddenly Harry's arm around him again, tight and warm. Louis' able to feel it better this time now that he isn't sobbing. He lets himself sink into Harry; his head lays on Harry's shoulder, his fingers curl around Harry's shirt, and there's a small huff of relief that falls from Louis' mouth. 

He forgot how Harry felt. He forgot how Harry's large hands stretched across miles of his skin, how Harry's never the first to let go of a hug. Louis feels guilty for forgetting things like this, like it's his job to map out and remember every inch of Harry. He supposes at one time he could've been a professional. 

"I'm sorry," Harry whispers gently. "For yelling at you, I mean. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

Louis shakes his head against Harry's shirt. "Don't be, Hazza." The nickname comes out smoothly, but it sends ripples through both of their bodies. He ignores it as gracefully as he can manage. "I hurt you, even if I didn't mean to. You're allowed to feel."

"But that was the first time you've ever done that. You were always so good to me, Louis. I still should be thanking you."

Louis snorts at that, pulling away from Harry. He feels a bit suffocated. "Anne sure does whenever she calls me."

Harry grins, nodding. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, and he starts to look like he's going to step back and Louis can't let go of him yet, not yet. A surge of emotions floods through Louis' veins at random, and Louis can't let Harry go yet. Not yet. He can't -- there's still so many things that need to be said. They've talked about Simon and their recovery all day, but there is more to them than that. 

Harry needs to go back to Nick's. He knows that. He should _let him_ go back to Nick; he's bound to screw things up and knowing he's going to screw things up makes him more nervous, thus more inclined to screw things up. It's a vicious cycle, really. He tries not to be selfish but he can't exactly think right, so he cups Harry's cheek tenderly, hoping and praying he doesn't get rejected. Louis knows he won't be getting anything more than a few kisses from Harry if Harry consents, and he doesn't care. He doesn't need sex, he just needs to have Harry back for a moment. Just one second. 

"Lou. . ." Harry trails off, voice strained. 

Louis shakes his head, silently begging Harry not to speak. He needs everything to be quiet because everything's been too loud this past month. For the past seven years.

Harry closes his eyes after admitting a shaking breath. His hands are still tucked away in his pockets, but Louis can still see them fumbling around, and he knows Harry gets antsy when he's nervous. 

"Can I kiss you? Are you okay with that?" Louis asks quietly, voice barely above a whisper. He hopes Harry wasn't lying when he said him and Nick weren't an item. That'd be Louis' all time low, getting rejected by Harry because of Nick Grimshaw. 

Harry nods, then. It's a beat off, and Louis fears that it's really not okay, but Louis knows he has to trust Harry in these situations. He learned that a while ago.

Louis stands on the balls of his feet the same time Harry hunches down, and it's so painfully familiar and tragically beautiful that Louis doesn't think he could pull away from Harry if he tried. If the walls begin to crack and the floor starts to shake, Louis won't move an inch because this is where he's the safest. 

Louis' the one that connects there lips first, and fuck. _Fuck_. He forgot about this too, how well they fit together. How soft Harry's lips are, how cautious but confident he is, and now there's a little more rough stubble thrown into the mix. This is a cheers to the past, but a toast to the future as well. 

Louis is also that one that starts shuffling them backwards towards his bed, the hand not holding Harry's check coming to bundle the front of Harry's jumper so he follows. He does, making sure that Louis' lips never leaves his, not even for a second. 

They fall swiftly onto the bed. Louis' on his back, opening his legs enough that Harry can comfortably slide between them to reach his lips. Louis prefers to be the one climbing all over Harry, but he knows that isn't possible. Harry doesn't like his back or stomach against the bed; it only heightens his paranoia and anxiety as he stares up at someone who's towering over him, even if it is just Louis. 

Harry kisses Louis deeper, maybe as a _thank you for understanding_ , Louis doesn't know. Louis doesn't know a lot of things, he realizes. Does Harry still dance around in his underwear in the mornings? How many new tattoos does he have? Are there any more scars on his heart?

Louis licks into his mouth, searching for the answers. He looks around Harry's tongue, across his teeth, practically down his throat, to see if he can discover any of the things he's missed. 

His lungs begin to burn. He tries to ignore it, but after a few seconds it becomes too much. He curses himself, silently wondering that, if he didn't smoke, could he have held on one more second? Louis pulls away, and the space between them becomes filled with labored breaths. He attaches his left hand to Harry's right one, and the other hand comes up to cup Harry's hip, fingers sliding under his shirt only slightly. He knows his limits.

Louis opens his eyes when Harry gives his hand a squeeze, and he frowns when he sees tears in Harry's eyes. 

"Are you okay, Haz?" His words are followed by small pants. He squeezes Harry's hip. 

Harry nods. "Yes," he murmurs. He shifts his weight so he's properly straddling Louis now; this way, he can bring his hand to Louis' cheek. He swipes his thumb across Louis' cheekbones and smiles. Louis notes that good Harry looks like this and takes a mental image so he'll never forget it. This could very well be the last time this ever happens again, and he refuses to let himself forget anything else. 

His heart stutters at the thought and he's becoming more clammy as the minute goes by. 

"I just miss you, s'all." Harry frowns, glancing away from Louis and off to the window next to Louis' bed. "And I know I don't have a right to miss you. I'm the one that ended things."

Louis shakes his head instantly. "I was weighing you down, Harry." Harry looks like he was going to try to interrupt, but Louis keeps talking before he can. "Don't say I wasn't, because I was. It's okay. I know I was. You were almost completely fine, and I was still plateaued in the deep end."

"I should've been there for you, though."

“You couldn’t be,” Louis says softly. “And that’s okay. I can’t blame you for that.”

"I'm serious," Harry says after a moment. He looks like he’s all twisted up inside, like his thoughts are getting tangled up in one another. "The only reason I was able to move passed it was because of you. We were going through the same things, and I allowed you to baby me and coddle me for _years_ without even realizing I never returned the favor."

Louis doesn't want to be having this conversation. Maybe tomorrow or something, but not right now. He wants to know about Harry's current music obsession, or how his mum's doing, and if his sister is still seeing that guy Harry was wary of. He wants to know if Harry has done any further renovations on his house, the one that was supposed to be theirs. Really, he just wants to talk about anything other than Simon fucking Cowell, and how he made a proper mess of their lives. 

Louis realizes that Harry is still talking. He's going on and on about feeling like he failed Louis, and he won't ever be able to forgive himself for that. Louis guesses he should feel bad for not listening, but he doesn’t, not really. 

"Do you have any new tattoos?" Louis blurts. 

Harry blinks, a little shocked. His mouth hangs open a little and he bunches one of his fists in Louis shirt. "Wha -- no, no I haven't. It didn't feel right."

A deep breath races out of Louis and he nods, tightening his hold on Harry's hand. He's sure Harry's hand hurts, but he doesn't let go. "Yeah, me neither."

Of course they didn't. Of course both of them felt wrong getting a tattoo with them being a part. Louis and Harry only got tattoos with each other or for each other, besides a few stupid ones, so it obviously didn't feel right. Louis tried walking into a tattoo shop on multiple occasions, but each time he left without his skin being littered on any further. 

"We should get another one," Harry whispers. He's too scared to say it any louder. "Together," he adds, glancing away from Louis. 

Louis' gut wrenches, head spins. He doesn't feel good, like he might actually throw up. Again. His anxiety is through the roof, and everything unexpected that comes from Harry's mouth causes his stomach to somersault and his heart rate fasten. He's happy, don't get him wrong. He's so fucking glad with the way things are going, that he didn't get rejected and that Harry doesn't hate him. But he's starting to fear Harry's going to say something big, like he still loves Louis or something, and Louis can't hear that right this second. 

He doesn't want to know that, even apart, Louis was weighing Harry down. If Harry still loves him, that means he's spent their time away from each other thinking about Louis and crying over Louis, just like Louis did for him. He knew Harry wouldn't have been going around fucking or falling in love with every bloke or kind lady he met, but Louis wanted Harry to be able to imagine a future for himself that didn't involve Louis at all, because Louis just weighs him down and he doesn't want to keep doing that. 

"You should go," Louis whispers back. He doesn't know what he's saying, doesn't know what he's thinking. He's being a right idiot, telling Harry to go because he has his own fucking insecurities. "Nick probably has an ulcer growing in his stomach." The words feel so wrong, especially because his hand is still clinging to Harry's. 

Harry frowns, shaking his head. His legs tense around Louis' thighs and Louis hates himself so fucking much when tears start to collect in Harry's eyes. "Okay fine, no tattoos. That's fine. I just figured 0- I don't know. You kissed me, I thought. . . I thought we were okay."

"We are okay," Louis tells him. "We are, Harry. If you don't hate me, then we're okay. I just -- I just don't know if we should be jumping straight back into things, right where we left off. You're a different person now, and I'm trying to be. . ." And that's okay, Louis thinks. That's a good thing, he's right about that. And then Louis says. "I just don't think it's going to work this time," and he fucks it all up.

Harry looks wounded, like he's been shot or something. He sucks in a shaky breath and he climbs out off Louis clumsily. He stands next to Louis' bed, confusion clear on his face, and he's twisting his shirt in his hands, his brain wracking for something to say.

Harry closes his eyes and releases a shaky breath. "I came here determined to hate you forever, rightfully so. But then you reminded me why I love you, why I _have_ loved you since I was sixteen. And then you go ahead and mess everything up again, giving me false hope and then crushing it." His eyelids flutter open, eyes wet with tears. "You're such a bastard."

Louis just stares at him. He's wordless, though his brain is screaming at him to fix things. 

"Good luck, Lou," Harry says, and he sounds like he actually means it. His words are filled with genuine hope that Louis gets better, that he heals. But it seems so final, like this is actually it between them. Like those will be the last words that Harry will ever speak to Louis again, and Louis hates it.

And then Harry's gone, and Louis wants to call him back. Wants to explain to Harry that he just needs to get better so he doesn't make Harry worse again, but the words don't come out and he lays lifeless on his bed. 

He stays that way until he hears the door downstairs shut, and then he's up and racing towards the bathroom. He heaves above the toilet, but nothing comes up. He stays there, coughing up nothing, until his knees get sore. Eventually, he gets up and flushes the empty toilet, dragging his feet back to his bed. 

Lottie is sitting on his bed when he returns to his bedroom. She looks concerned but annoyed, and Louis just wants her to go away. 

"Not in the mood, Lotts," Louis grumbles, shuffling back into bed. He ignores how his body dips uncomfortably towards her weight.

"I thought things were going alright. You took him upstairs. Did you have a fight, or something?"

Louis ignores her. He's determined to ignore her until she leaves, because he's afraid he's going to say more things he doesn't mean and he doesn't want his sister hating him, too. 

"Louis, answer me. Did you say something?" Again, he ignores her. "He was crying. You must've said _something_."

Louis feels his heart plummet at that, and he feels sick again. He really should see a doctor, because he knows this isn't normal. It isn't normal to be so afraid that something is going to go wrong that you make something go wrong, and it certainly isn't normal nor safe to be throwing up so much when he's perfectly healthy. 

"What in the hell could you have said that was so bad you won't tell me?"

Louis feels himself give into his anxieties then and he snaps. He doesn't know what's going on with him, doesn't know if he should fucking go drive himself to a mental hospital or something. He knows he's never been one hundred percent mentally stable since he was eighteen, but it's never been so bad that he feels like he's watching from behind the wheel as the car barrels towards a tree. He's been under immense emotional stress since he came out against Simon, but that was almost a month ago. If he was going to sink this far down, shouldn't it have happened sooner?

"Lottie, if I wanted to fucking talk about it, maybe I would be talking about it with him and not you."

She rolls her eyes. "Well you have to talk to _someone_ , Louis. You were throwing up in the bathroom again, weren't you? That's not fucking _normal_ , if you haven't noticed."

"Of course I know it's not fucking normal!" Louis shouts. He sits up in bed so he can properly glare at her. "I fucking know that."

"Then talk to me. I can help."

“This is adult shit, Lottie. You can’t help. You can’t even understand it.”

She crosses her arms. She knows Louis is hurting and lashing out, and that she needs to stay patient, but it's hard. "You're being a twat, Louis. Why can’t you realize everyone around you is worried about you?"

Louis feels himself trembling. He knows he needs to calm down, to take a deep breath or he's going to slip into a panic attack, and he doesn't think he can handle one right now; he already feels lightheaded. He stands up from the bed, ignoring the way the room spins, and stalks towards the door. 

"Don't go downstairs," Lottie demands as gently as she can.

Louis rolls his eyes, turning to her once more. "And why the hell not?"

She stands, then, clearly ditching the plan to stay calm. "Because you're walking around like you're ready to kill someone, and I don't want the younger ones being on the end of your wrath." She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Again."

Louis frowns and his heart stutters. Lottie is afraid that Louis will upset their younger siblings, and Louis doesn't like that. He knows he lashed out at Daisy a little while ago, but he apologized to her and he's mostly sure she's forgotten that it even happened. Louis shouldn't be acting so outrageous that even his own sister doesn't trust him. 

He wraps his arms around himself, feeling ill. He needs to get a grip on his mental health, he decides. He doesn't know if that means seeing a therapist, or just talking about it with someone he’s close to, but he needs to do _something_. He can't go around saying and doing things he doesn't mean and scaring his siblings over something that happened years ago. He needs to take time and make a real effort to move on with his life. He already made the first step; now he just needs to keep walking. 

"I don't think I should be here," Louis says quietly, glancing around his room. Lottie looks frightened, and Louis realizes what he says sounds much scarier than he intended. "Doncaster, I mean. I don't think I should be in Doncaster anymore."

Lottie frowns. "Where do you want to go?"

"Los Angeles, maybe," Louis shrugs. "I don't really know. I just know I can't stay here anymore. I'm sick of feeling like I'm weighing people down with my problems."

"You're not -- "

He interrupts her quickly. "I am. I know I am, it's okay." He bites on his bottom lip, thinking hard. He knows if he goes back to his home in L.A. he'll slip back into his hold habits; drinking until he forgets, everything rushing back twice as hard in the morning, rinse, and repeat. "Maybe I'll go stay with Liam or Niall."

"Or Nick," she supplies sadly. He's breaking her heart. "You've been talking to that Nick bloke a lot."

He shakes his head. "That's Harry's safe haven, I'm not going to disrupt that. Plus, the only reason I've put up with Grimmy this long is so I can see how Harry's doing."

"What happened?" she asks again.

Louis sighs. He steps around her to grab his suitcase from under his bed. It's still packed halfway with things that he never bothered to unpack from the last time he used it and he hauls it onto his bed. "I kissed him and then told him I didn't think we could make it work this time around."

" _Louis_ ," she chastises. "You've been moping around ever since he broke up with you, and he finally wants to try again and you tell him no?"

He gives her a look. "It didn't go exactly like that," he defends. "And that’s not the point.It’s just -- Our relationship started because of Simon, and then it ended because of Simon, and now Simon is the one bringing us back together. I just -- I don't want to be in a three way relationship, you know? I want both of us to be free of him for good and then we can fall in love because we love each other, and not because we know what the other is going through so it's easy. He's been able to move on for the most part, and now it's my turn." He turns to Lottie, a look of determination in his eyes. "I need to get my shit together before I fuck his all up again."'

Lottie looks at him with a confused look, like she doesn't understand what he's saying. "Shouldn't you be a little more confident in him? If he's gotten better, if he's healed, then he should be able to handle the fact that you aren't."

"He shouldn't _have_ to handle anything." Louis rubs at his head, still feeling lightheaded. He should eat something. "I just want to be better for him, you know? I want the both of us to be at our best, because we've seen each other at our worsts for far too long."

She nods, but she doesn't understand it. Not really. Lottie walks over to her brother and she wraps her arms around his shoulders. He stops filing through his suitcase and lets himself deflate into his sister's shoulder. "Enough about Harry, more about you. Have you eaten today?"

He shakes his head. He had woken up when Harry came, so there hasn't been much time.

"That's where we'll start then, yeah? Let me go make you something."

He nods, not telling her that he doesn't like that his little sister is making him food. It should be the other way around. He lets her go, though. He watches her walk towards the door and then she stops and turns back around to look at him. "I really don't want you to go, you know."

He smiles sadly, glancing down at his suitcase. "I know you don't." He lets the _but I have to_ go unsaid.

After she leaves, he notices his phone lit up on his bed. It must've slipped from his pocket earlier and he plops down ungracefully onto the bed to reach it. He knows who it's going to be and he refuses to let himself avoid Nick; that's childish. He needs to start dealing with things instead of pushing them off, and reading a text that is undoubtedly hostile is a good place to start. 

_You twat,_ the message begins. _I knew you would do this. I knew you'd fuck it all up. It's super hard rooting for you, you know. You don't make it easy. I don't know how your fans do it._ Nick's message stops there, and beneath it there's another. _I know you insanely well. Do you know how many hours I've heard Harry drone on and on about you? Too many. Precious time of my precious life that I'll never get back. You're defensive and you put up walls, always have, even with him. But so help me God, Tomlinson. He's the only person that can truly help you get through this. You two need each other to function properly - so why even try. He scared you off by wanting to jump back into things, I get it. But you know how he gets. He doesn't do things halfway. He needed time away from you to get better, and maybe you think that's what you need, too, but it's not. I know it's not. You need help with this Louis, or else you would've already healed. And that's okay._

Another message. 

_He goes to therapy. He went two times a week at the start of your hiatus, and he's down to one now. Sometimes, when he has a panic attack or something, he calls her. She's nice. He's on anti-depressants, too. Which he specifically told me not to tell anyone about, but I feel like you should know._

Another one. 

_Don't you dare go back to L.A. and get drunk off your ass every night again. I'll find you myself and break every single one of your beer bottles over your head. Don't test me._

One more. 

_He keeps tabs on you, you know. He has Niall and Liam call you with questions he has. Like if Lottie's still with Tommy and stupid things like that. He's worried about you, because he knows you better than anyone else. He hates himself for ending things like he did. He knows you drink too much and don't eat enough and he knows from conversations with your mother that you don't call home all too much. He wants to help you. He wants to be there for you, like you were for him. So bloody call him and tell him you're sorry, because he's ready to come home._

\- - - - 

Louis doesn't call. He doesn't call that day, or the next, or even when he flies back to L.A. It's been three weeks since that day, and he's been dodging calls from both Nick and Harry. By now, he's ditched Nick's number and blocked it because when he's drunk and crying he doesn't need Nick bloody Grimshaw texting him things like _YOU ARE SUCH A BLOODY KNOB_ or _he's having a rough night. I don't know how to help him,_ because that just makes him feel worse and drink more. 

He doesn't remember the last time he's been one hundred percent sober. He does, actually (the day he came to L.A.) but he lets himself pretend like he doesn't because he hates himself a little for not being able to last a day on his own. 

At first, he went out to bars and clubs with friends to get drunk. Slowly, he pulled away and stayed in to get drunk. Sometimes he would invite his friends over to get wasted and stoned, but he was too anxious he was going to have a nightmare when they were there, so he didn't let them stay. 

Now, he's staring at his television with a half-empty bottle of vodka in his hand, by himself at home. He stopped using glasses a while ago. He's mindlessly watching TMZ, something he does a lot. They’ve been talking about him a lot, and he can’t help but listen. It makes him feel exposed and vulnerable, even when he’s drunk, but he can’t look away. 

Right now, they’re discussing how Louis dropped his case and fired his lawyer recently. 

"It makes you question if it ever actually happened,” one of the host says. “You know, he could've gotten paid or something to go against Cowell to see if it would raise a movement.”

His co-host shrugs. "Well, the number of people accusing Simon is now at forty-three. Obviously, the guy is guilty, whether Louis was involved or not.."

The host nods before saying that it helps transition them into the next topic. "The count has gone up to forty-four, now that Harry Styles has come forward as well. He was Louis' bandmate, and there's been. . ."

Louis blocks the rest out as he stares at the screen, completely horrified. He couldn't have heard that correctly. He must be so drunk he's hallucinating. Is that even a thing? He doesn't know, but fuck, it doesn't matter because he needs to know if what they said is true or not. 

Louis sluggishly gets up, his mind racing. As he rises, the vodka spills from the bottle and onto the couch, which he ignores as he looks for his phone. He remembers throwing it somewhere, he just doesn't know where. 

He finds it cracked by his fireplace, and he slumps down onto the ground roughly, opening Instagram. He’s just got a gut feeling about it.The first thing that pops up into his feed is a long message written in black ink on lined paper under Harry's account name. 

Louis stops for a second. Stops thinking, stops feeling. He just sits there, staring dumbly at his phone but not reading Harry's message yet. 

After a few moments, he takes a deep breath and starts reading.

_To All,_ Harry starts. His handwriting looks neat, lacking the exaggerated slopes and lines that are usually found. _My silence has not been missed by all of you. It's been heard loud and clear, and I appreciate you wonderful people being wonderful and sending me lots of love. I know that it's been hard for some of you that I've chosen to be quiet, and I understand why. I want to make it clear that I support action. I encourage any of you to speak up and speak out for what is right. I wasn't at a place, until now, that I could talk about it with you all. I'm sorry._

Harry must've wrote that part himself and then let management tell him what to write afterwards, because it starts to sound a little less personal.

_During my time on the X-Factor, Simon betrayed my trust. He made both me and my good friend Louis do things neither of us wanted to do._ Louis snorts at that, _'good friend'_ , but he's also crying; his heart is already bruised, and now he thinks it has actually shattered. _We were taken advantage of at a young age, and my heart breaks for anyone who can relate to our story. Under no time had any of the other judges or staff members contributed to this, it was only him. And now, I will join the force that will take him down._

_Much love,_

_H._

Louis feels nauseous. His stomach is swirling angrily, left then right, sloshing alcohol around. He thought his ripple effect ended a while ago, but here it is, very much only just starting again. He just wants this part of his life to be over. That’s why he fired his lawyer; he thought maybe that would speed the process up. It did, actually, for a while. Until now. Until Harry. 

The memory of him holding Harry years ago as Harry pleaded for Louis to promise him that they would never have to tell is clinging to his brain harder than Harry was clinging to Louis that day. It hurts too much; Harry still had his chubby cheeks and small curls ringling around ears, and he looked so _desperate_. And now, Harry is all grown up, all smoothed out, with hair shorter than it has ever been, coming out publicly as one of 'Simon's Survivors', and Louis doesn't know what to do with all that.

Maybe Harry’s grown up and recognized that they had more power than they initially thought. Or maybe -- and Louis hopes to God this isn’t true -- Harry is still feeling like that seventeen year old and he’s acting brave for Louis. 

Louis shakily closes Instagram and goes to his messages. He doesn’t actually know if Harry texted Louis about this; Louis hasn't even looked at any of his texts or calls in a solid week, letting them collect dust in his mailbox, unread and unanswered. The small number next to Harry’s name reads (26). He stopped opening Harry's first, so they've been ignored for the longest time.

He skips to the most recent ones, ignoring the rest. He tells himself he look at them later, but he probably won’t. 

One week ago: _I want to come forward. Call me? Or answer my calls? I don't want to do this without you. H x_

Louis presses the sleeve of his dirty jumper to his mouth and he bites on it nervously. Harry didn't want to do it without him. _Well, sorry,_ Louis thinks bitterly. 

Six days ago: _Lou, I really want you to call me. At least text me you're okay, yeah?_

_C'mon, Louis._

Five days ago: _I'm going through with this. I would really appreciate you giving me a little pep talk. I'm on my way to management's now. Please!!_

_They'll release the statement soon. I mentioned you. I hope that's okay. Call me? Please? I’m kind of freaking out._

Four days ago: _I really want to talk about this with you. I’m not asking for anything more than a conversation. Nick is trying to help me but he doesn’t understand it like you do. Having one of our talks like we used to would really be helpful to me right now I think. Please_

Three days ago: _Just heard that you dropped your lawyer?? What the fuck Louis? CALL ME._

_Louis. C'mon. Please. Seriously. I'm flying out to L.A. next week to see you. Text me your address._

Two days ago: _Fine. I got it from Liam. I'll be there in a week. Do I need to come sooner?_

One day ago _: Louis you're freaking me out. I've talked to all of your friends, none of them say you're answering. I know you aren't lying dead in your house right now because you got papped yesterday. You look sick. I would never leave you in the dark like this, Lou. I feel like I'm going crazy. CALL ME!!!_

_And we really need to talk to you about you dropping your case._

Today: _The statement's going up today. Please look at your fucking phone so you aren't blindsided with it like I was. I got an earlier flight,, I'll be at yours in two days instead of three. See you then. I love you. I hope you are taking care of yourself. H xxx_

Louis glances around his house, too drunk to be embarrassed but not too drunk to know he should be. There are empty beer cans, liquor bottles, and chip bags laying around everywhere. He's resorted to smoking indoors, and now his coffee table is an ashtray. There's stains everywhere, most being from spilling alcohol but other from God only knows what. Louis' been wearing the same clothes for the last nine days, hasn't showered in eleven. His hair is more grease than anything else. 

Harry will be here in two days. Louis doesn't care. Let him come. 

-

An hour later, he knows he's far too intoxicated. His blood has been replaced with vodka and his organs are now swimming in it. He feels light and heavy all at once, like his bones are made of lead but his skin and tissue are made of clouds. He's absolutely pissed, and he wonders if he should go to the hospital so they can put him back together. 

Louis' sat against the fridge with an empty pizza box in his lap. He finished it off last night even though he had gotten pizza about a week ago, and he's licking his finger and dragging it across the bottom of the box, collecting the bits of pizza and grease before bringing it to his mouth. 

Three beers in, he had felt pathetic. Now, he feels. . . nothing, really. He feels a little sad, but everything's fuzzy and he can barely stay on one thought so he keeps forgetting why he's even sad. 

He remembers every time, though. Simon is why he's sad. Harry is why he's sad. And since he won't help himself, Louis is why he's sad. 

Louis' phone goes off next to him and he groans quickly. The dread deepens when he sees that it’s Harry. He grabs it with fumbling fingers and, proof of how shitfaced he is, he answers it without hesitation. 

He doesn’t say anything; figures there’s no need to, really. Harry’s the one who called him, not the other way around. 

“Louis?” Harry says after a solid minute of silence. “Are you -- Thank you for answering. Seriously.”

Louis’ brain is a whirlwind of so many different things that he’s not exactly surprised when he blurts, “I’m so fucking drunk,” out of nowhere. He doesn’t think about saying it; it just comes out.

There's a short silence on the other line. If Louis was sober, he'd easily be able to tell that Harry’s trying not to cry. Drunk Louis doesn’t really look too far in it and just waits for him to talk.

There's a sniffle. Louis misses it. "Just. . . how wasted are you, love?" 

"Probably," Louis burps loudly. "Probably too drunk, I don't really know. 

"Louis, I need you to listen to me carefully, alright? Can you do that for me?"

Yeah. I'm listening." 

"Good, good. Are you at home?"

"I'm in L.A."

There's a small sigh. "I know that, sweetheart. But are at home? Or are you out somewhere?"

"Home," Louis responds after a moment. It’s so hard to think right now. "In L.A."

“Is anyone with you.”

“No. It’s just me. It’s just -- it’s just me.”

Louis hears a hushed, posh accent spit, "He's proper wasted, mate." It's Nick, Louis knows. He can picture them hovering over Harry's cell phone together, Louis’ voice reaching both of them. He's too drunk to be mad that Harry's allowing Nick to listen in. Harry shushes Nick quietly, probably giving him a face. 

“Sorry I blocked your number,” Louis says quietly. “Hope you weren’t too pissed off.”

"He's not upset, babe," Harry responds. After a moment, he sighs quietly. "I'm going to call someone to come stay with you. Is that alright, Louis?" 

Louis' face droops. "I wanna be myself." He picks at his sock. Even in this state, he's hell bent on not letting himself be a burden on anyone else. He doesn't care if anyone sees the state of his house, but he doesn't want his friends seeing him all dirty and drunk.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Lou." Harry sounds sad, sad enough for Louis to be able to tell. 

Louis grows quiet, looking around. He feels something wet his his arm and he glances down to see a tear; he wipes at his cheeks, his hands shaking. After letting out a few shaky breaths, he whispers, "Do you remember what he did to us, Haz?" like it's some kind of secret, like the whole world doesn't know. 

Harry hums, staying patient. "Yes, love. I remember."

“I wish I could forget. If I could just -- if I could forget, I’d. . .” He trails off, too tired to finish that sentence. His mind starts to wander elsewhere. “I always think, like. . . At least he was gentle, you know? He never -- he didn’t actually hurt us. Like, physically.”

“Yes he did, Louis,” Harry says. “What he did to us was about as physical as it can get.”

Louis sighs. That’s not what he meant, exactly. Clarifying his point sounds like too much work right now, though, so he doesn’t. “If I would have just come forward when it first happened, you wouldn’t have been hurt. You would never have been touched. That’s _my fault_ , Harry. That’s -- “ 

He cuts himself off when his head spins viciously. He’s so goddamn _drunk_ ; he doesn’t even know if Harry can understand everything he’s saying. 

There's a noise, like Harry is fumbling with the phone. "Louis," Harry's voice cuts in, sad and heavy. "I don't -- I can't talk about this right now. I can’t,” there's a choked sob. "Please stop."

Trying to avert the conversation, before Louis can respond, Harry asks breathlessly, "Do you know if Liam or Niall are in L.A.?”

Louis doesn't even hear him. "People think I'm lying now. They're saying that I was just a pawn to see if others would follow."

"I know that's not true," Harry whispers shakily. "I know what really happened, that's what counts."

It doesn't count for anything. Not anymore. Louis barely believes anything Harry says as of late. "Do you ever wonder if I'm ever going to get better?" Louis licks his lips which are cracked and dry. The pounding in his head is becoming nearly unbearable. "I think I'm stuck this way."

There's a shuffling from the other line. Louis doesn't know what's happening, but Harry says, "Don't you fucking talk like that," and he sounds closer. Maybe he took him off speaker phone.

Louis continues. "It's been years, Hazza. He took too much of me." He sounds like a little kid; so small and so vulnerable. Feels like one, too. "I'll never be okay. I'm always gonna be broken. Like a -- like a shitty fucking roller coaster stuck at the bottom, or something." 

"Louis," Harry chokes out. "Stop talking about yourself like that." He sounds serious, like he isn't messing around. Like if Louis doesn't start listing things he loves about himself, Harry might explode.

So Louis stops, because not talking sounds easiest right now and he’s not trying to hurt Harry. 

Harry clears his throat. "Nick's going to talk to you while I call the boys on his phone, okay? Will you keep talking to him?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes, I do."

"Okay."

The phone gets passed to Nick and Louis can faintly hear Harry whisper something frantic. He lolls his head to the side, waiting for Nick to say something. Harry said Nick is going to talk to him, not the other way around. He doesn't want to talk to Nick that much, so he's not going to initiate a conversation. 

"Talk to him, you fucking shithead," Louis hears Harry seethe from the background. Louis laughs a little. 

Nick attempts a laugh, but it falls flat. Louis doesn't notice. "I'm nothing but nice to you popstars and this is how I'm being treated."

Louis hums, nodding. Nick doesn't deserve any of this, either. He’s most likely been scheduling his life around Harry this past month, and that's Louis' fault. How come everything always comes back to him?

"Do you think I'm a bad person, Nick?" Louis asks suddenly. Before Nick can responds, Louis' saying, "Harry's a good person. He’s just so. . . pure. But me. . . must've done something wrong in a past life to get this bad of a hand."

Nick swallows audibly. "You are brilliant, Louis. Honest. The both of you are. Neither of you did anything to deserve this."

"Neither did you," Louis points out. 

Nick huffs out a laugh. "I have a choice in helping him. In trying to help you. I don't have to do anything; I could step out of this mess anytime I feel like it. I won't, of course. I love him too much, but. . . you two don't have that choice."

Louis hums, thinking about it a short second before moving topics in his head. He's thirsty, but water's too far away. He's hungry, but he has no real food in his house at the moment. 

"I don't want Niall coming over," Louis abruptly requests. “He’s -- I don't want a sad little Irish boy moping around my house."

"He's not in L.A., anyways," comes Harry's voice. Is he really still on speaker phone? He can't tell. "Neither is Liam."

"'S okay, Hazza. I'll be fine on my own."

Very sternly, Harry says, "You're not going to be alone tonight." There's a brief moment of silence before there's a sigh. "Zayn's in, um, he's in California. Liam talked to him a bit ago. I'm going to call him to see if he can stay with you until I get there."

Louis chuckles, rolling his eyes. "You don't even have his number, Haz. Gonna be kinda difficult."

It's true, and Louis thinks the alcohol is slowly beginning to fade from his system at least slightly, because hurt skips across his heart. It was one of the hardest things he ever went through, having to choose between Harry and Zayn. Harry had no intentions of keeping a connection with Zayn after he left, and Louis felt awkward trying to, like he was betraying Harry or something. The day Zayn told them he thought he was done, that he couldn't do it anymore, Harry had gone out and changed his phone number. 

"I know, Louis," Harry snaps. There's a deep sigh and then a second of silence. "Liam is texting it to me now." His tone is much more gentle; Louis has the feeling he’s on the verge of losing his patience entirely. "Is that -- is that okay? Is Zayn staying with you alright?"

Louis shrugs. He's getting tired, he thinks, and he sprawls out on the kitchen floor. He uses the cardboard pizza box as a pillow. It’s a crap pillow, but. "I can just sleep it off, Haz. Really, I'll be fine by morning."

"Lou -- "

"He's probably with Gigi, Harry," Louis explains, closing his eyes. "They're probably having a night out as a couple, at a fancy fucking restaurant, wearing fancy ass clothes, having _fun_. He doesn't need that being interrupted because I had a little too much to drink."

There's a scoff. "A little too much? Lou, I can barely understand you." His voice has a raw sort of sound to it, meaning he’s close to tears. "You get sad when you drink and I don't want you being sad."

"I think I’m too drunk to be sad right now.”

And Harry gets upset, then. He's breathing gets quicker and Louis can practically see Harry tugging at his hair. "You can't just drown your liver in booze to try and forget everything, Louis. It doesn’t work. _It doesn't work_. You'll have to deal with this eventually, don’t you see that? It's been seven fucking years, and I swear you're just getting worse. It's over, Lou. _It's over_. There's no way he's getting out of this, no amount of money can save him. You need to get over this, as harsh as that sounds. It happened, Louis. It happened again and again and again, but it's over now and you need to move passed this."

"Like you did?" Louis snaps, though there isn't much heat behind it. He's too tired to give anything other than a small flicker of irritation. "If I remember correctly, you were at Nick's flat in a heartbeat. Wouldn't even let him touch you. Sound healthy, Harry?"

Harry wants to snap at him, Louis can tell. Harry's doing that deep breathing he only does when he's trying desperately not to cry or get angry. Louis wants Harry to get upset, he wants Harry to yell at him. He's so convinced he's doing everything wrong, he just needs someone to _agree_ with him. And besides, because of him, Harry is being looked at differently by the whole world, just like he didn't want. 

"Why'd you go public?" Louis questions sharply. He sits up, and the room goes black before reappearing again. "You were so pissed I broke our stupid promise, and then you turn around a month later and do it yourself. Why?"

Harry’s silent for a long moment. Finally, he says, "It felt wrong to be silent when so many people were relying on me."

Louis snorts, "Bullshit. You always said it wasn't your job to share your business, that you don't owe anyone anything."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Louis." Harry's beyond agitated now. "You want me to tell you that if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have, either? So you can beat yourself up over it even more? Do you want me to tell you that I did it because I thought that's what you wanted? Then fine. Fine, yes, I did it because of you and for you just like I do everything else. So you don't -- " Harry's voice breaks. "You don't get to put all this horrible crap into your body and refuse to take care of yourself."

The room begins to spin faster and everything gets a little more blurry and hazy. Louis closes his eyes again, not remembering opening them. "You should've done it for yourself, not for me. Not because of me."

"Zayn will be there in five minutes," is all Harry responds.

Louis sighs, his grip on the phone loosening. "You're going to have to talk to him sometime, Hazza. You two used to. . . we were a fuckin' family, the five of us."

"We still are," Harry mumbles quietly. "Just not all of us are on speaking terms right now. And that's okay."

"Whatever," Louis huffs, rolling his eyes a bit. "I just miss him. And you. And Niall and Liam. Even Grimmy, a bit." He sits up, his brain rolling painfully, and leans his back against the fridge. The cool surface relaxes him slightly. “I really, really miss you, H.”

"You wouldn't have to miss us if you just let us in, love," Harry tells him gently. 

The conversation becomes too much for Louis, so he stops responding. He just lets Harry's heavy breathing fill the silence and he mimics it, slowly falling to the edge of sleep. He doesn't think he can fall asleep; everything is stinging too brightly, but then again, he's drunk so he'll probably just pass out eventually. 

Three minutes pass, both of them sitting contently in the sound of each other's shaking breaths, and then Louis hears the door start to jingle open; Zayn probably knows that after all this time, Louis still keeps a spare house key stupidly taped under his mailbox. He becomes as self-conscious as he can in his drunken state as he looks around the kitchen, shit stacked everywhere and food splat all over everything. 

"He's here," Louis whispers shakily. He feels so small, suddenly.

"Good. I'm glad. He's going to take care of you, alright?"

Tears start to burn his eyes, throat tightening as he hears the door open. "He's going to be so disappointed in me. Hasn't seen me in fuckin' forever and now he has to take care of me."

"It's going to be okay, Lou, alright? Just let him take you up to bed. You can sleep the whole time until I get there."

"Two days, yeah?" 

"Two days," Harry confirms. 

There's footsteps. Louis hangs up the phone, wincing slightly as his life line is cut away by a red button. He knows he should get up, knows he should at least attempt to look put together to avoid looking so pathetic, but he can't. He just sits there, clutching his phone tightly in his hand with his eyes shut and head resting against the cool fridge door. 

Zayn's footsteps are coming closer and closer, until they stop and he can tell that he's sharing air with someone else. Louis feel his chest leap before caving in on itself because Zayn is standing only a couple of feet away from him, slowly taking in just how much Louis has changed. 

"Hey, Lou," Zayn says calmly. He's trying his hardest to keep his emotions in check and to keep his voice strong so Louis doesn't feel bad for hurting yet another person, but it doesn’t work very well.

Louis keeps his eyes clamped shut. He's mortified as he sits in his own filth, in a mess that should've been cleaned so long ago. "I'm sorry," he croaks out. He doesn't even try to mask his hurt. "You shouldn't -- "

"Don't," Zayn demands sternly. "Let's just get you to bed, yeah?"

Louis nods. Bed; that sounds alright. He can do that. He shakily places his hands down next to him so he can push himself up, but as soon as he does he stumbles and falls forward. Arms quickly wrap around his waist from the front and Louis lets himself collapse into Zayn's arms. He's small, Zayn call handle his weight. 

"I got you," Zayn whispers into Louis' greasy hair. His voice is so gentle. "Not just until Harry gets here, you hear me? Harry's gonna have to get used to me again, because I'm not leaving you until you're back on your feet."

Louis weakly hooks onto Zayn's neck. He's smart enough to know he won't be able to walk on his own. "You have a girlfriend," Louis slurs quietly into Zayn's shoulder. They're kind of hugging, kind of not. "She won't like that much."

"She'd rather me be here with you then anywhere else, Louis. I promise. She understands how I feel about you. She's cool about everything."

"How you _feel_ about me?" Louis snorts. "Don't go announcing your undying love for me, Malik."

Zayn laughs slightly. "Shut up, 's'not what I mean."

"What do you mean, then?"

Zayn doesn't respond at first, just pulls Louis closer and squeezes him, actually hugging him now. "You're a brother to me, Lou. You know that. When I left the band, I didn't have any intentions of leaving you. Any of you, but especially you."

Louis frowns, head swirling still. "Niall and Haz had a mutual understanding that they weren't going to talk to you," Louis explains guilty. "Harry, especially."

"And you chose him," Zayn fills in for him. "And that's alright. I get it. I would've done the same."

"He hates you," Louis blurts, and he doesn't really know why. "Fucking can barely talk about you."

Zayn nods; it's not news. He got used to not having Harry's number in his phone a long time ago. "C'mon," Zayn mumbles before he starts to drag the two of them around in Louis' house. He steps over lazily discarded clothes, dishes, and some things he can't quite identify. Not even for a second is he annoyed that he'll be the one cleaning all of it up once he gets Louis asleep. 

"You've got to shower tomorrow, mate," Zayn says, as politely as he can. He'd be lying if he said the smell of Louis' breath and body wasn't almost suffocating. Once he doesn't receive a response, he glances down to see Louis dead asleep, mouth hanging open.

He would laugh, but nothing funny about this. Nothing is funny about leaving someone's life when they are in decent shape only to come back much too long later to see that they no longer have any shape at all. Louis is sprawled out everywhere; on the walls, stuck to the floor, in Harry's heart, under Simon's fingernails. As he pulls Louis up the stairs as gently as he can, he feels incredibly guilty and sad. He'll call Gigi as he cleans, he decides. Take his mind off things a bit. She has a way of doing that.

Finally, Zayn gets Louis up to his room. All of the other room's doors are shut, so he assumes the one that is open and spewing out garbage is Louis'. He fixes his hold around Louis waist, grunting slightly. This would've been so much easier if he just carried Louis properly in his arms. He could do it with ease years ago, and it’d probably be easier now due to the weight he's clearly lost. 

Ungracefully, Zayn lets Louis fall to the bed. He scrapes away the top layer of filth as much as he can without disturbing Louis, and he sighs. This is as good as it'll get for now, he thinks as he tucks Louis in. There's no need for Louis to have a king-sized bed for his size, especially since he no longer shares it anymore, so it’s smaller, but it doesn’t look it with Louis on it. The size of the bed just swallows him whole, and Zayn hates it.

As he quickly escapes Louis’ room so he no longer has to look at the shell of his friend's face, he briefly wonders how long it'll take to fix up the rest of the house, and how much longer it'll take to fix Louis.

\- - - -

Louis wakes with a start, though really, it's the finish. The nightmare that jolts him awake is just a finale of yesterday's drunken endeavors. He's sweating and panting and crying, and it’s always, always so disorienting. There's a body next to him with a strong arm hooked over his waist and Louis panics, too far into a frantic state to remember that Zayn saved the day last night. He freaks, shoving the arm off of him with clammy hands and scrambles out of the bed. Before he can look back at Zayn's startled face, he rushes to the bathroom to puke up the alcohol and emotions poisoning his system. 

Sometimes now, after he eats, he throws up. Not on purpose, and not with any intent; he's just thrown up so much, his body has become prone to it, or maybe it's because he doesn't eat that much so when he does, his body rejects it. He's so used to kneeling here, hovering over the toilet, that he's practically penciled it into his schedule. 

Horrible choking, gagging sounds are followed by a spew of pale yellow vomit. It floats around the toilet bowl as if it's taunting him, proof that he's fucked. _So_ fucked. So fucked, he doesn't know if he can make a come back from this. He doesn't even know if he can make it to next year if he continues doing this. 

"Louis?" comes Zayn's voice for the doorway. It's coated with sleep and worry. Louis refuses to meet his eye. 

"I'm fine," Louis murmurs, resting his sweaty head on the toilet's cold porcelain. It should be gross. It really should be. "Jus' a bit hungover, really. I'll survive."

Zayn cautiously moves closer to Louis. He hasn't had to console Louis in so long, and even in his One Direction days, it was rare he ever got the chance too. He sits down next to Louis, his back pressed against the cabinet next to the toilet. "Did you have a nightmare?" He's scared to ask and scared of the answer. 

Louis gives him a look. It makes Zayn shudder. 

"Harry told me you said you get those a lot. He said that I should, y'know." He looks for words. "Expect them? Prepare for them?"

Louis looks back to the toilet. He flushes the puke down and closes the lid to hopefully mask the smell. "I thought Liam was the one to ring you." The memory is hazy, so maybe he had dreamed it up.

Zayn nods. "He was. But after you fell asleep, Haz rang me to check in on you."

Louis rolls his eyes, and he doesn't know why. He doesn't expect anything less from Harry. Of course he called to see how Louis was doing last night. Harry is sweet and caring and loving; Louis' pretty sure he'd call Louis to make sure he was okay even if he had a gun to his head with someone telling him not to.

"Yes," Louis hisses finally. "I have stupid nightmares like a little kid."

"About what?" Zayn asks dumbly. He quickly corrects himself, "I mean. . . _him,_ yes. But what about him?"

Louis glares at him. Why does everybody want to know the details that aren't necessary for them to know? His lawyer wanted to know how many times it happened, the press wants to know what it was like being under Simon's control even after the end of X-Factor, the fans want to know if how he's doing. People shouldn’t ask after details, especially when it took him so long to come clean about this. That should be enough. 

He tells himself Zayn is just curious. He's never been too specific regarding his nightmares to anyone who isn’t Harry; everyone on tour knew he had them, but they never knew exactly what they were about. He closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face before sighing. 

"They're mostly, like, memories, I guess. Of when he forced me to do things. Sometimes the dreams don't play out exactly how they did in real life, but it's pretty close." Louis' stomach rumbles. They both ignore it. "Occasionally, they're about him and Harry. Where I'm just, like, watching them helpless. I'm in the room but I can't do anything other than watch." Louis licks his lips, feeling a sliver of weight fall from his shoulders. "And even sometimes, they're with Liam or Niall, or you."

Zayn twists his face, chewing on his lip. He looks hesitant when he asks, "Which are the worst?"

Louis only shrugs, wrapping his arms around himself. When he has dreams about himself, he wakes up haunted and scared but since he's become so used to them, he can normally shake the feelings that come with the nightmares away. The ones about the others, though. . . those stay in the back of his head all day, slamming against the base of his skull. 

He needs a cigarette. So does Zayn. 

"Breakfast, yeah?" Zayn offers suddenly, standing. 

"I don't have any food," Louis mumbles, looking forward. "Don't have much of anything, really."

Zayn frowns down at him. "I went out this morning to pick a few things up. C'mon."

They walk downstairs and to the kitchen in silence. Louis tries to ignore how much cleaner everything is, because that means Zayn cleaned up after him like he is a child, and that Zayn had picked through his last few weeks. It's too hard to ignore it, though. He can see his floor again. 

"Thanks," Louis murmurs, perching on top of his kitchen stool. There's room to put his elbows on the table that wasn’t there before. Zayn only nods at him. 

Louis sighs, resting his head in his hands. His brain is shaking, hitting his skull every second with so much force Louis' sure his brain will explode. He's hungover and sad, and that's not a good combo, so this is usually when Louis opens his first beer. He can't now, not with Zayn here. He hates the way his body aches for it. 

"Waffles or cereal?" Zayn asks, shuffling through some bags he took out of the fridge. "I bought some other shit, like eggs and bacon, but I'll save those for Harry."

"You'll burn the fuck of them," Louis comments. It's flat and toneless, but Zayn takes it.

He snorts. "You're the one who can't cook. Haz'll just cook them better than I can."

Louis nods, a faint smile tugging at his lips. The slight happiness can't outweigh the heavy sadness he feels, so his lips stay in a straight line. "Cereal, please." He closes his eyes, resting his head against the cool countertop. He feels horrible, and he can't tell if the guilt swirling madly in his stomach is rougher than normal. 

"Harry only went public because of me," Louis whispers. The guilt tornado goes faster, fueled by the attention it's finally getting. " _For_ me, or whatever."

Zayn quietly pours Louis his corn flakes. What is he supposed to say?

"He should've done it for himself." Tears burn his closed eyes. "He should have had the same intentions that I had; to gain closure and move on, but he did it for me. The fuck was he thinking? I’m a borderline alcoholic who has the tiniest will to live, and he just -- he shouldn’t have done that.”

He hears the milk being put back into the fridge. Zayn's still quiet, still doesn't know what to say. He sets Louis' cereal next to him and he, too, sits on the stool. He's staring at Louis, figuring out what to say or do. "Don't do anything stupid," Zayn decides. He rests his hand on Louis' elbow. "You're not going to decide when you stop living. You don't get to do that."

Louis sits up, knocking Zayn's hand off of him. He let Zayn get too good of a glimpse, he thinks, shifting the cereal in front of him. He stirs the food around, even though there's no need to. It buys him time. 

"I'm serious, Louis."

Louis drops the spoon loudly, rolling his eyes. A few specks of milk drop onto his hand. "Everything's fucking serious. I'm sick of it."

Zayn doesn't know what Louis means about that, but he doesn't ask because there's better things to be talking about. "You wouldn't hurt yourself, would you?" he asks cautiously. 

Louis scoffs, shrugging. How the fuck should he know? Anger is fueling his movements, it's clear in the way every little thing is pissing him off. So, maybe Anger's the one to blame for his next words. 

"You're just here because you feel guilty," Louis snaps, anger fading faster than it came. This happens a lot; he has massive mood swings, usually drowned out by the bottles on his shelf. One minute he's laughing at the TV, grinning ear to ear, and the next he's hiding under his duvet because he swears he can feel Simon's gaze on him. He's officially lost it. All because of one man. 

'I'm sorry, Louis." Zayn sounds upset; he doesn't have the right to be, Louis thinks. "That we couldn't see it and that we didn't do anything sooner. For everything, I'm sorry. But I'm not just here because I feel guilty, I'm here because you need a fuck ton of support and I can get you showered and fed until Harry gets here."

"I'll shower in a bit," Louis murmurs. He's filled with a sad emptiness as the anger completely fades and he's back to nothing. He fumbles with his spoon, suddenly not hungry but he eats a bite anyways. He knows his body needs real food. He'll eat the goddamn cereal because that's all he can do right now. 

"Good," Zayn is saying with a false tone of glee. "You need it, bro."

Louis lets a small huff of laughter pass through his nose and then decides that's a decent enough reaction. He doesn't want to fake a laugh, especially when they'll both know it wasn't genuine. 

"I should text Harry I'm awake," Louis decides, running a hand over his face. He only remembers how worried Harry was. He doesn't clearly remember being doted on and called _lovely_ or _sweetheart_ or anything like that. Maybe if he did, he’d be feeling a bit better right now. 

\- - 

He takes an hour long shower. It's interrupted twice by a worried Zayn. "You alright?" he asked, and Louis sighed in the steamy shower before saying he was fine. Louis would never hurt himself, and even if he did, he’s not selfish; he’d make sure that if he did do something permanent, that someone who loves him wouldn’t be the one to find him. 

He's clean and warm when he emerges from the shower with skin tinted pink. His phone is still sitting on the counter where he left it, and after checking it, he finds that Harry still hasn't responded to his short _awake now. sorry._ He wants to take back the message, doesn't think he can handle being told not to apologize, especially when it is quite necessary for him to do so. 

_I don't remember much, to be honest,_ Louis types out, body dripping water onto the tiles, creating a tiny puddle. _I vaguely recall you being you and Nick being Nick and me being far too drunk._ He bites on his lip harshly. _And bringing up some graphic shit that didn't need to be retouched on. I'm sorry. Thank you._

After he presses send, he dries off with a towel and throws on some fresh clothes. He's wearing an oversized jumper with baggy sweatpants, and as he examines himself in the mirror quickly, he recognizes that the jumper is so big because it's Harry's. It doesn't exactly make sense, because Harry hasn't even been at Louis’ new home, but his stupid sweater is, and that's not fair. How many houses has he carried the stupid thing through without even realizing it?

He sighs as he makes his way back to the living room. He has bigger problems to be dealing with. Starting with the fact he's already craving a beer and he can't let himself get shit faced again. He's determined to do it right this time; last night is the last night he'll be drunk crying over Simon or Harry or anybody else. Today will be the day of change, even if that means smoking four cigarettes outside with Zayn in silence to subdue his cravings. 

\- - 

That night, Zayn lets him have two beers. It's two more beers than Harry would have allowed, and Zayn feels a bit guilty about it, but it's not like he's doing shots of vodka with Louis. They're just drinking some beers like they used to. 

He feels a little less bad about it when he sees Louis slowly unwind. A couple of beers isn't going to completely lose the edge Louis has around him, but it softens it slightly and makes Zayn's heart hurt a little less. 

Zayn’s phone lights up again, and he huffs a bit. Harry has been texting him all day, prying for updates constantly like somehow Louis got wasted in the two minutes since he last asked _how is he?_ He still opens it, still reads Harry's _just make sure he gets a decent night's sleep. I'll be there around ten a.m._ Zayn also reads the implied _so don't be there_ and it makes him even more annoyed so he types back _ok._

"Who are you texting?" Louis asks, distracted. His eyes are still glued to the movie he's been watching intently.

"Gigi," he lies. 

Louis’ not sure how he knows that Zayn is lying, but he does. "Liar, he scoffs. Louis glances at him finally, his gaze a little too hard. "He told me he was going to bed."

Louis and Harry had been going back and forth all day, talking about everything and nothing but for sure not Simon or the case or the trial that start soon. Mostly just what Harry has been up to in London with Grimmy.

"He just wants you to go to bed soon," Zayn murmurs, looking caught. "Wants you to be all rested so you aren't a zombie when he comes by tomorrow."

Louis hums before wrapping the blanket he made Zayn get earlier from his now-clean room tighter around his body. It's pressed snugly to the back of his next and he's swimming in the soft fabric. Hiding, he thinks. Shielding himself. 

After a moment, Louis softly and carefully confesses, "I haven't gone to bed sober in a while. They nightmares, like. They’re usually more intense. I don't really want to go to bed."

Zayn stays quiet for a second, mostly because he can't imagine how Louis' nightmares could get any worse than they seemed to be this morning. He clears his throat eventually and attempts a smile. "I'll be there. If that means anything."

"It does," Louis says quickly. He's looking at Zayn with cloudy blue eyes and only then does Zayn realize Louis' about to cry. Harry probably would've noticed so much sooner. 

"It’ll get better soon, yeah? Just have to get through this shitty stuff first.”

Louis nods. Zayn's right; if he actually tires to get better, to stay sober, the nightmares will lessen overtime. He hasn’t always had them this bad. Drinking makes it worse, so if he stops, they should, too. He just needs to stick with it.

"After this is over, I'll go to bed," Louis decides. He stares back at the telly, no longer as interested in the movie as he was before. 

-

Just like the night before, Zayn slides in behind Louis. He wraps a protective arm around Louis' middle and nuzzles his head into Louis' neck while sliding his other arm beneath Louis so he can rub soothing circles on Louis' arm. Louis lays pliant, staring off into the darkness of his room. He almost wants to keep the lights on while he sleeps, but doesn't move to actually go do it, because how embarrassing would that be? 

He lays awake thinking. He tries to figure out if he's looking forward to Harry coming to his house tomorrow, and he can't yet decide on yes or no. He wants to see Harry again, wants to hug him and hold him and not fuck it up this time. Louis wants to apologize for everything, and to get back on his feet with Harry's hand helping him up. But he doesn't want to let Harry down or let him get a good look at how far he's fallen. Louis knows that his house is clean now, and that there's no longer a pile of smoked cigarettes on his coffee table or stacks of empty beer bottles placed everywhere. Zayn made everything look normal, and now Louis is the only thing out of place. 

He doesn't know how long he lays there, but Zayn has fallen asleep a while ago. Small, short puffs of breath are breathed out on the back of his neck and it reminds why he likes being the big spoon, but he still likes being in Zayn's strong grip. It grounds him.

He tries desperately not to let his mind walk down That Path, yet he ends up there anyways. He always does. Always. 

He shouldn't remember the exact feeling of Simon's fingers on his hips. They were rough and unforgiving, always pressing dark bruises into his skin. The memory of Simon's hard eyes peering down at him while the blue carpet of his office floor dug into his knees shouldn't be so fresh, because it happened seven years ago, but it is. It's, like, engraved into his soul or something. 

He can't remember exactly how many times it happened, though. It's at least over a dozen, but he doesn't know the exact amount of times he was forced to do things he wanted no part of. Louis didn't keep count, and Harry did, and Harry says it happened to him sixteen times. On sixteen separate occasions, Harry was sexually assaulted.

He doesn't understand how Simon had the time to be grooming and destroying two helpless teenagers so many times. Harry and Louis had rehearsals constantly, and Simon was consistently gone from being their 'mentor', so how was it that it happened so many times? Simon must've had his way with Louis, sent him out, and called Harry in minutes later without either of them knowing.

And that's one of the toughest parts for Louis, really: the not knowing. How could he have not known the same exact thing that was happening to him was happening to his best mate? They were instantly hooked one another, instantly became inseparable, but neither of them trusted the other person enough to tell them what was going on. Harry had probably came back from Simon's office and fell right into Louis' arms, and Louis didn't even know. 

"You still awake?" Zayn's voice is asking, tired. He lifts his head up to peer down at Louis, who is too exhausted to fake being asleep. He just continues to look forward, eyes locked on the bathroom door knowing that's where he'll be when he wakes up in the morning, puking his guts out. 

There's shuffling, and then Zayn's saying, "It's three o'clock, Lou. You were supposed to be asleep hours ago."

"Can't," Louis murmurs, voice hoarse. "I'm not tired."

Zayn sighs, sitting up completely. Louis lets himself sink into the dip of the bed Zayn's weight is creating and he sighs, too. 

"Did you even try?" Zayn's tone is accusing, like he knows better. 

"Thought about it."

"Louis," Zayn chastises, and then he accidentally says out loud, "Harry's going to kill me."

They're both silent after that. Zayn lays back down, pulls Louis back into his arms. He seems more determined this time as he holds Louis. He closes his eyes, hoping Louis will do the same, but he doesn't fall asleep himself. He doesn't until he hears Louis' breath even out at around four in the morning. 

\- - - -

_boarding my flight now. See you soon. love you._ and then, _oh, and good morning xxxx_ is what Louis is met with when he opens his phone. He already went through his daily routine of waking up in a sweat, coming down from a panic attack, but this morning, he didn't puke. He has felt nauseous all morning, though. He's almost numb to it all, now. It's almost more normal than brushing his teeth. 

Louis is on his second bowl of Froot Loops when he notices it's past ten o'clock. It's 10:25 and both Zayn and Louis are slightly worried, and neither of them mention it. Louis just stares at the television while Zayn tidies up the living room, muttering something pointless every now and then. 

"Maybe he knows you're still here," Louis guesses when it's 10:45. "Maybe he's waiting for you to leave."

Zayn huffs, throwing a dirty shirt at Louis. "Thanks."

Louis shrugs. Harry could somehow manage to be that petty. He’s a generally selfless person, but he's always had a small spark of ferocity tucked away inside. 

Zayn thinks Louis' just kidding, and then he doesn't once it's passes eleven o’clock. He wonders if he should leave, if he should just let Harry take care of Louis. He decides against it, though, after one glance at a tired, sad, too-thin Louis. And besides, there's a part of Zayn that wonders if Harry can even help Louis. 

Harry loves Louis with his whole being; he'd die for him in a split second, everybody knows that. But Harry is soft and tender and vulnerable, even with his walls up. Harry's a good guy, one of the best Zayn knows, and with that he wants to please everybody. Harry looks at people with questions, waits for them to give him the answers, and he can't do that with Louis right now. Louis is in desperate need of taking a break from being the one who gives the answers, because he doesn't have any. He has no clue how to do anything anymore.

Besides, Louis needs a therapist or something. Medications to help him sleep at night, something to help him forget long enough to remember how to breathe. Harry isn't a professional in self-love; he only learned how to do it himself two years ago. 

"I'm going to lay down," Louis whispers, setting his empty bowl on the coffee table Zayn just cleaned. "If I fall asleep, wake me when he gets here, will you?" Louis doesn't wait to see Zayn's nod before he's off on his way to his bedroom, where he most certainly won't fall asleep. 

Zayn huffs a bit, not wanting to face Harry alone when he does finally get here. He hasn't seen him since he told them he was done with the band, that he couldn't do it anymore. It's bound to be awkward. He's certain it'll hurt. Harry didn't give Zayn and room for an explanation, just nodded and then changed his phone number like it was easy. 

He busies himself with cleaning until there's a knock on the door. It's timid and quiet. Zayn sighs, setting down the dirty dish he is in the middle of cleaning and dries off his hands. He's held Harry while he cried too many times to be scared to see him. 

So, after reminding himself this is about Louis, he opens the door, not a Zarry reunion, there he is in flesh and blood and Zayn's breath escapes him a bit. 

Harry's hair is shorter now. There’s other things about him that are different -- he looks older, more mature, his clothes look a bit more put together -- but all Zayn can seem to focus on is the hair. 

Belatedly, he notices that Nick Grimshaw is standing awkwardly behind Harry, one of his hands shoved into the pocket of his maybe too-tight jeans. Zayn doesn't know much about their friendship, other than he's certain it pushes more than that sometimes, but it's clear that Nick is there for Harry and not Louis. Nick's close behind Harry, a steady hand on his shoulder, fingers gripping tight. 

"I know I'm late," Harry says slowly, eyeing Zayn carefully. He's practically begging Zayn to give him shit for it. "Our flight landed late and there was traffic." Harry takes a small step back, closer to Grimmy, and Zayn doesn't know if he is supposed to pretend not to notice. "Hope that's not a problem," Harry says, venom bordering his words. 

Zayn smiles tightly. "It’s not a problem at all. Come in." He holds the door open so the two of them can walk in, and ignores the way Harry grips Nick's forearm harshly as he shuts the door. 

They both scan Louis' house, surprised to find everything's mostly clean. They both know it's Zayn's doing, and Harry hates that he wasn't the one here to clean Louis' stuff. That Zayn came nosing around Louis' life. Harry hates it, even though he was the one who asked Zayn to be here.

"You can go now," Harry says sharply, glaring at Zayn. "I have it from here. You did your part, you can leave."

Zayn crosses his arms and leans against the couch behind him. "I'm not going to that. I want to help."

Harry's nostrils flare, and it's evident he has some sort of built up vendetta against Zayn that isn't going away any time soon. "You left once, you sure as hell can do it can. He doesn't need you here."

"Haz," Nick says calmly, "You know that's not fair."

Harry lets go of Nick's arm and makes a face at him. "Life isn't fair." He turns his attention back to Zayn, and he isn't trying to make this about him, but he can't help it. "Just go, please."

Zayn shakes his head sadly. He isn't trying to anger Harry, and it hurts that him just being here is enough to do so. "I want to be here for him. The same way you do."

Harry scoffs. "You can't just be here when it's convenient for you, or when I'm scared he's going to hurt himself and you're the last resort. You're nothing like me; I've always been here for him. I didn't check out half way through tour because I couldn't handle it anymore." Harry points at him angrily as he nearly shouts, "We made the mistake of allowing you to be a part of our support system, fuck all if I'm letting him make the same mistake."

"You haven't always been there for him," Zayn snaps, because he can't help it. "The reason he's so bad right now is because you broke up with him. He needed you, needed to take care of you, and he needed that more than he's ever needed me. This is your fault."

There's a heavy silence for a moment. Harry takes a step back, bigger than the one he took earlier, and he's clearly hurt. He's obviously been battling this guilt for a while, and Zayn just went and confirmed all of his fears. 

Nick's giving him a look, and he has half a mind to be afraid. Nick is glaring at him like he just kicked a puppy, and then Nick's saying, "Say something like that again and you'll regret it, mate." And then he's looking at Harry with these soft eyes, all warm and caring and scared, and only then does Zayn feel the weight of what he said. 

"I didn't mean it," Zayn says with a short sigh. "It’s not your fault. I'll go get him." He walks too fast up the stairs and with his head down. 

He isn't surprised to see Louis sitting up in bed, not asleep, with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He's running his hand through his facial hair, idly wondering if he should have shaved it, and only then does he notice Zayn. 

"You cocked things up quite quickly," Louis mumbles around his cigarette. "Is your plan to make yourself look more of a train wreck than I do?"

He isn't mad, and it only because he doesn't have the energy to be. Maybe, if he had seen the look of hurt flash across Harry's face, he could've found it him to get all protective of Harry like he does so often. 

"It's not his fault," Zayn says slowly. "But it's not mine either. And it's not yours."

Louis nods too quickly, like he isn't even properly taking the words in. "Why's Nick here?"

Zayn shrugs; he thought Louis would know. "No fucking clue. They aren't. . . they aren't, like, dating or anything, are they?"

Louis puts his cigarette out on his wooden dresser, and it annoys Zayn greatly because he _just_ cleaned that, but he doesn't say anything. He watches Louis get up, and watches him attempt a smile. "Just fucking occasionally," he replies honestly, even if he probably shouldn't because that's not his business. Harry doesn't even like Zayn, and here Louis is, telling him Harry's personal business. 

Louis leads the way back down the stairs, and Zayn studies the way his hands shake a little and his fingers curl in on themselves before Louis shakes them back out. Louis' nervous, probably, but it's so different than anything Zayn is used to. Louis wasn't ever nervous around Harry before. 

And Louis _is_ nervous. The last time he talked to Harry on the phone, he was drunk and talking about stupid shit he shouldn't have been. The last time he was with Harry in person, he fucked things up so badly and he freaked, and he knows Harry's going to be more cautious this time around, his heart back in his chest instead of on his sleeve. It hurts, and so does everything else. 

What is he even supposed to say to Harry? _Sorry you have to be here, sorry I can't get over this_. He doesn't know if there's anything right to say.

Louis gnaws on his bottom lip as he reaches the bottom step. He's scared that maybe Harry has left or something, but he hasn't. He's standing in the middle of his living room talking to Nick. He seems upset, and Louis' gut twists. 

"He hasn't been okay for a while, Haz," Nick murmurs, just loud enough for Louis to catch it. "That's not on you."

Harry looks like he doesn't believe it. "But -- "

" _No_ ," Nick says sternly, almost too stern for Louis' liking. "We've been down this road before, Harry. If you wouldn't have left him, you'd both be drowning in a bottle of booze right now, not just him. You needed to break up with him, he wasn't good for you anymore. That's neither of yours fault."

A flash of anger strikes Louis, _because how dare_ Nick tell Harry that Louis wasn't good for him. Louis and Harry were always so good for each other, and it never stopped being that way until Harry loathed to even look at Louis. And _fuck him_ , because Louis would _never_ let Harry drink himself stupid because he was hurting. The sole reason Harry is okay right now is because Louis used up every bit of his energy on making him that way. Nick is under Louis' roof, bad mouthing him and telling Harry he isn't good for him. _What a fucking asshole._

"Harry's never been much of a drinker," Louis spits, crossing his arms. He steps down the final stair when they both look at him. "Unless _you're_ the one who let him slip into that habit."

Nick doesn't respond, just sighs and looks away. He likes Louis, but quite frankly, he likes Harry more, so he isn't going to apologize for telling Harry the truth. His truth, anyway. 

"Lou," Harry says. He's tone is soft and sorry, and Louis has the decency to wipe the look of anger off his face. "I'm sorry."

Louis chews on his cheek before waving it off. There's an obvious tension in the air, but they'll deal with that later. (There's more than just one argument that needs to be hashed out. Harry and Zayn will have to get used to playing on the same turf again, Harry and Louis need to find what book the other one is reading so they can get back on the same page, and Louis needs to remind Nick of his place). For now, they'll all pretend that everything is all happy and cheery in the world, so that sticky, bristled feeling they're all feeling goes away. 

"A footy game is on in ten minutes," Louis mumbles, looking towards Zayn, purely just because he can't look at the other two in the room. His heart is tugging him towards Harry, always has, especially when he's sad, so it feels odd to shove it down but he does along with the lump in his throat. "We're watching that."

"Football is rubbish," Nick replies. His tone is light, like he knows what Louis is trying to and he wants to help it along. Louis still glares at him. 

A small, quiet noise comes from Harry and it sounds sad, and Louis can't help but look at him. To make sure he's okay, to protect him, because that's all Louis knows how to do, _fuck._ Harry is staring at him, tugging at the bottom of his shirt, and he looks out of place, like he doesn't know what he should be doing. He can't just banter about like Nick and Louis are doing, but he can't just not do anything, either, like Zayn is doing. 

Nick shuffles closer to him, and Louis wonders for a brief, hostile second if Nick's urge to protect Harry is stronger than his. "Are you alright, love?" Nick whispers. It's sweet, and so, _so_ soft. Nick looks genuinely concerned, almost sick with worry, and Louis bites his lip harshly to keep from saying anything stupid. 

Harry glances at Nick with these big, stupid eyes and he nods. "I can make food," Harry says slowly, and when Nick nods, Harry looks at Louis again. "For the game. I -- I can make food."

Louis shrugs lightly, like the kind offer isn't hurting his heart. "You know where the kitchen is, Harold," he jokes, and then his face crumples a little bit because _no Harry doesn't._ Harry has never been in this house before. 

But Harry saves it, doesn't let it knock him back too much. "Yeah, I'll go find what you have in the kitchen."

Louis nods shortly before turning away to find the comfort of his sofa. As soon as his body crashes into the once soft fabric of the couch, he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He doesn't like this. Not one bit.

He doesn't like feeling uncomfortable around Harry -- it’s not natural --, he doesn't like the fact that Nick acted like a friend when he's still just a snob, he doesn't like that Nick is in his home, and her certainly doesn't like that the only reason Harry is here right now is to help Louis. 

Help. It's a simple four letter word, but Louis still lets in run circles in his head. He hates that he's so far gone that there's no way he can reign himself back in on his own. Maybe Harry isn't the answer, but there's no way he can see a therapist, or a doctor right now. He knows he’ll have to eventually, and that’s why Harry is here. To get him okay enough to see have the courage to go to professionals. 

(He never realized drunk how bad he looked. The bags under his eyes are as heavy as the baggage he carries. His skin has a yellowish tint to it. He's much too thin, even he can recognize it. He doesn't remember swimming in his clothes. And the puking, God, the puking. It's disgusting, and he can't seem to stop. The emotional whirlpool gets too strong and causes him to vomit everywhere, and it's becoming scary.)

Zayn makes home next to him, snuggles up close. He drapes his arm around Louis' waist and digs his nose into Louis' shoulder. He squeezes Louis' arm. "You alright, man?"

He hums. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Grimmy is in your house," Zayn supplies. "You don't like him."

Before Louis can answer, a loud, scoff fills the room. "I'm flattered."

Louis shifts his neck to the right to see Nick there, a sharp look on his face. He looks tired, and Louis briefly wonders how much Harry has aged him with all of their problems. 

Louis shrugs, knocking Zayn's head lightly. He wants to scream at Nick, to force some of his problems out on him, but he refuses to give Nick that sort of satisfaction. He keeps his voice light, his posture uncaring. "You're in my house -- uninvited, mind you -- acting like Harry's guard dog. No, I don't like you much right now."

Nick shrugs, yet it's obvious he's getting just as worked up as Louis is. He sits down on the chair near the sofa. "You're spiraling downhill and Harry will let himself tumble down after you. I'm not going to let that happen, not again."

A spark of anger catches in Louis' stomach. He sits up, knocking Zayn off him entirely. "What is with you insinuating I'm bad for him? Yes, I weighed him down at the end of our relationship, but before that, _I_ was the one that carried him through everything. Not you. You were just hipster fuck he hung around with on the weekends because it made him feel cool."

Nick makes a face. His face goes a bit red as he spits, "I was more than that. I was always a friend to him. When you two got in a fight he was at _my_ flat, not with _you_. I know he's the love of your life, and I know you are his, but right now, you are absolutely tearing him apart." Nick's almost shouting now, fists clenched. "You are bad for him, Louis, you are bad for him. You won't always be, you'll get better, but as of right now, you are fucking killing him."

Louis feels his chest tighten up, his heart struggling to do its job properly. "You know, you weren't this much of a prat a few weeks ago. You actually seemed like you cared about me." His voice is tight and watery. He sees Zayn clench his jaw next to him.

"I don't like you, never have. You're an obnoxious dick, and for some odd reason Harry likes you, so I was trying to check up on you. Trying to make sure you wouldn't do anything stupid."

For some reason, that hurts Louis sharply. Not even Nick Grimshaw likes him, and when did Louis become this insecure? He feels his walls shoot up full force and he can feel the poison starting to collect itself on his tongue. "If I was going to do anything, you wouldn't have been able to stop me. You don't know shit about me. You probably don't even know shit about Harry."

A fierceness takes over Nick. "I've taken care of him just as much as you have. You don't get to take that away from me." His chest his heaving, face red with anger. "You might be able to have him whenever you want, but you don't get to take what I've done for him. What I mean to him." Nick scoffs, "I'm his best friend. I know him quite well."

Louis keeps quiet for a moment. He's watching how Nick takes deep, angry breaths and Louis wonders what he's done to irritate him so much. Louis' never annoyed him so much. Something's changed. Something massive has shifted in their equilibrium of hatred and he keeps running Nick's words over in his head until --

"You're in love with him," Louis whispers incredulously. "You selfish, conniving bastard. You're in love with him, aren't you?"

Nick looks caught. His posture deflates, his mouth opens and closes. His fists loosen up and his face crumbles and he looks so utterly exhausted and defeated for a second, Louis almost feels bad for him. 

But he doesn't. He won't ever. Louis stands, anger thrashing violently through his bloodstream, swishing around like kerosene. "You and him have been fucking, and you're in love with him."

Nick's eyes are wide. "Louis, I -- "

"No," Louis spits. "You've had an ulterior motive with him this whole time, the _whole time_ you've been sleeping with him. He's broken and hurt and you took advantage of that. He's had enough of that, hasn't he?"

Nick doesn't know what to do. He should be defending himself, he knows he should be, because it wasn't like that, it never has been, but Louis' so angry and unpredictable that he stays silent and still. 

"You're disgusting," Louis snarls, digging his nails in his skin. "He was under the impression that he was just turning to a friend, and you wanted more from him than that. You shouldn't have -- you should've -- "

"It wasn't like that," Nick rushes out, standing up shakily. "Louis, I know what you've both been through, and I know you probably have some -- some twisted scenario of me convincing him to have sex with me, but it wasn't like that. It never was."

Louis laughs darkly. "You know, Simon might say the same thing."

"Don't do that," Nick pleads, shaking his head. "It wasn't like that, I swear. I went at his pace, did what he asked me to do. I never, ever slept with him when he was going through a rough patch, or he was drunk, or he was overly tired. I never did anything to hurt him."

In reality, Nick is being honest. He always made sure Harry was in the right place to do anything sexual, always was careful and did exactly what Harry needed him to do, no less and no more. And shit, Nick didn't know that he was in love with Harry until the bloody plane ride here when Harry was sleeping against him, his big, stupid fingers curled around Nick's shirt. He never did anything to hurt Harry. He always knew Harry was Louis'. 

But, Louis. . . Louis is on a different level. Louis just sees another older adult taking advantage of Harry, right under his nose, and once again, he has failed to stop it. He is lit with a fire that has never burned within him before, and his chest is heaving, and he wants to hit Nick. He wants to hit Nick until Nick forgets Harry altogether, and then he wants to hit Nick until Louis forgets Simon altogether, and -- and --

\-- and he does. Louis pounces at Nick, and they come crashing down against the chair. He vaguely hears Nick groan and Zayn yell something, maybe for Harry, but everything is blurry and everything hurts and he's having a panic attack, Louis realizes. He can't breathe and his palms are sweaty and tears are sprinting down his cheeks but that doesn't stop him from landing a few punches to Nick's flesh, mostly his cheek, but really, whatever he can get his hands on. His chest, his stomach, his arms, everything. 

He doesn't know when his brain stops going Nick, Nick, Nick, and starts going Simon, Simon, Simon, yet he finds himself picturing Simon under his fist. He's sobbing and there's shouting but all he can hear is his brain screaming at him. 

_You didn't ever try to stop him, you were weak. You didn't tell anybody. You should've told someone. You could have saved so many people, you could've saved Harry but you didn't. You failed. And you failed him again._

He’s so panicked that he only manages to hit Nick a few times. 

A sharp, loud, gut-wrenching scream leaves Louis' throat and he feels himself being hefted of Simon -- _Nick,_ fuck -- and he doesn't stop swinging, _he doesn't stop_ , because he didn't start seven years ago. And now he's here, hurting someone who has spent the last few years taking care of the love of his life because he couldn't. 

He opens his eyes when someone places him down to the ground, not very gently. He doesn't remember shutting them, and the whole room spins dramatically and he chokes on his own spit. There are hands grabbing at his fists, trying to pin them down. 

He doesn't stop fighting until hands are grabbing at his face and someone's telling him to open his eyes. He does, again, not remembering when he shut them, and Harry is there, concern and worry and fear plastered on his face. He's crying, too, and Louis feels himself slam his palms against Harry's chest. He leaves them there, as he sobs and struggles to breathe. 

"I can't," Louis sobs, shutting his eyes. "I can't, can't breathe." His lungs are on fire and the flames are eating away all the oxygen. 

"Calm down, Louis," Harry begs.

He's got Louis caged with his body, hovering over him, and Louis shoves him off a little. "Get off," he chokes out, swatting at him. "Get off, get off, get off."

Harry looks confused, and it isn't to then that it really clicks for everybody. Louis isn't broken beyond repair, but Harry, as lovely as he is, can't fix it. Harry can't kiss him better, can't hold him until he is all healed. It's not going to work like that. 

And they all feel defeated at that point, and Harry and Nick just got there.

Harry moves off of him, though he doesn't go far. He sits next to Louis' head, gnawing on his body lip harshly as he watches Louis squeezes his eyes shut and tries to suck in breath. 

"You have to breathe, Louis." It's Nick, Louis recognizes after a moment, and Louis already feels guilty. "C'mon, Louis. Breathe in and out, come on."

Nick settles beside him, earning a fearful look from Harry. He brushes him off because he's not scared of frail, little Louis Tomlinson, thank you very much. "In and out, Louis. Do it with me."

Harry watches them through wide eyes, so worried that he lets Zayn get on the ground and wrap his arms around him. He doesn't push him away, or even think to, just grabs his hand and watches Nick talk Louis down, remembering vividly all the times he's been the one in Louis' position. 

Though, he has never hit Nick. And he isn't very happy Louis did that, either.

Once Louis' lungs are working again and humiliation is covering him like a blanket, he manages to hold the sobs back and stand up on his own. He ignores how Harry's hand catches the back of his thigh to steady him, and how Nick stands with him to be sure he won't fall, how he can feel Zayn's eyes following him, and how his legs wobble violently. He opens his eyes when he is sure no tears will fall and Nick isn't in his view, and he holds himself pathetically as he walks to the kitchen to grab a pack of cigarettes that he set on the counter earlier. 

Nobody follows him, thank God, because he needs time to think, to breathe. He needs time to process that Nick fucking Grimshaw is in love with Harry, and that Nick hates him, and that Nick’s image is being distorted in his head, and he doesn't know what to believe.

He doesn't know what to believe.

He knows Nick would never hurt Harry. Louis heard him promise him that day of the phone call, and he can see it in the way Nick looks at Harry. Nick is madly protective over Harry, he looks at him like he's the moon and the sun and all the stars. And in a way, Louis is glad somebody is looking Harry like that, because he deserves to be admired. He _is_ the moon, and the sun, and all the stars, so he best be damned treated like it. 

He shakily lights his cigarette. 

Every part of him is shaking or hurting. His skull feels weightless but his brain heavy, a bad contrast, and his throat is burning from the shouting. His knuckles are red, though not bruised, so hopefully he didn't hit Nick too hard. If Nick walks away with little to no damage, Harry will be more inclined to forgive Louis. 

Louis couldn't imagine what he must look like to him. Harry hasn't seen him in a few months and he came to his home, and within minutes Louis was hitting Harry's best friend. He just wishes Harry hadn't heard anything, just saw swinging, because if Nick hadn't already told Harry he is in love with him, he didn't want to be the one to do it. And Louis knows for a fact that if Harry knows that Louis has any sort of suspicion of wrong intentions of Nick, the trust they've built with crumble, and quickly. 

It really is that fragile. Everything is. 

There's the noise of floor boards creaking behind him. Even in a million dollar mansion, Louis can't escape the loud moans and groans of a house that make him jump. 

"You shouldn't be smoking in the house, Lou." It's Harry, and his voice is all soft and timid. "It'll yellow the - "

"I'm sorry," Louis interrupts. "Not for the smoking, but for. . . for Nick." Louis curses quietly after stubbing out his cigarette against the counter tops. "I'm so fucking stupid, I'm sorry. Shit, Haz."

Fast footsteps find him. A hand is placed between his shoulder blades, and Louis' skin jumps, so the hand doesn't move back and forth. It stays steady. Calm. "He's alright. Messed up his nose real good, though." There's silence before he whispers, "I've never. . . never seen you like that before, Louis. You scared me shitless."

Louis slumps into Harry's touch, and Harry takes that as a sign to start rubbing tentative circles into Louis' back. 

"We need to talk," Harry says calmly, like Louis isn't hanging on to his every word. "We need to talk about a lot of things, Louis. And you are going to like it, not one bit, but I'm not here to make bacon and eggs for a footy game. I'm here to help."

Louis feels nauseous at the word. He swears the room spins rapidly so he shuts his eyes. "How long," he starts, but stops when he hears how wrecked his voice sounds for screaming. Fuck. "How long are you here for?"

Harry doesn't miss a beat. "For as long as you need me here."

"Bu -- but your lawyers. The trial. You can't be here forever."

Harry's other hand strokes Louis' hair, pushes the fringe out of the way of his eyes as best as he can from behind because he knows it's drooping past his eyes. "I can try." 

And then Harry is hugging Louis tight, arms wrapped around his chest tight as a vice. Harry's breath is fanning Louis' neck, and in a desperate attempt not to cry, Louis clutches onto one of Harry's arms. 

"I'm so fucked up, Hazza," Louis chokes out, shaking his head. "There's so much shit I have to sort through, I feel drowned in it."

"I can help you, Lou."

Louis shakes his head again, and he squeezes Harry's wrist. "I just want to go to bed."

Harry nods against his shoulder blades and pulls back. Louis almost tells him to _wait, stop, don't go,_ but he doesn't. He just stands there. 

"After you eat." There's a pause. "Please eat."

Louis feels like his whole body frowns. "It's not like that," he whispers. 

"What's not like what?" Harry's being cautious. Tip-toeing. Louis hates it.

Louis turns around to look at him. "It's not like I'm not eating," Louis promises. 

Harry tucks his hands in his pocket. Louis vaguely wonders that if Nick were in here, if he'd have his arm on Harry's shoulder, comforting him silently. His stomach lurches. Harry frowns. "You've lost a lot of weight since the last time I saw you,” Harry points out.

Louis rolls his eyes. "I'm sad, Harry. Not stupid. I wouldn't just stop eating."

Harry narrows his eyes a bit before they soften again. "It's not stupid."

Louis deflates. There's that tone in Harry's voice, the one that tells Louis he's stepping on dangerous territory and he needs to tread carefully. He briefly wonders if that's a new bad habit Harry's taken to, and he vaguely recalls his sister saying _Lottie says he looks skinny_ and fuck. Louis is such an ass. He can't do anything right anymore.

"I feel like I don't even know you anymore," Louis whispers. He feels dumb. So, so stupid. He's just fucking everything up. "We should never have let us get here, Haz. We should've -- should've fought harder or something. I used to know everything about you and I don't know if you're that person anymore. It's fucking terrifying."

Harry gives him a gentle smile. "I haven't changed too much, Lou. You still know me better than anybody else."

Before he can help it, he blurts, "Better than Nick?"

Harry's smile drops. He crosses his arms, tucking his hands near his armpits. "Yeah, better than Nick," he says. "But you need to get over whatever thing you have against him. I trust him, Louis. I trust him a lot. And I can't handle you two not getting along. I can't take that. So do make me."

"Haz -- "

"No. I'm serious. You can't make me choose between you and him. I won't do that."

Louis nods a little frantically. "Fine. Yeah, okay. I won't do anything again." He still doesn't like Nick, or the fact that he's bloody in love with Harry, but fine. Louis can handle his existence. "I still don't want him here, though. I don't want someone I can barely stand watching me like this."

Harry shrugs, not unkindly. "I need him here, for my sake. And besides, he can help you. He's helped me a lot, Louis. He's bloody fantastic with shit like this, which is weird, because he's the most emotionally stunted person I've ever met. He just, like, knows what to do, all the time. He - "

Louis clenches his eyes shut. He can’t take hearing about Nick anymore. "Do you love him?"

He hears a small gasp. "What?"

"Do you love him? Are you -- are you in love with him?" Louis' chest tightens. He can't hear Harry say yes. He can't. He'll literally shatter into dust right here.

"Louis. I. Is this why you hit him? You think I'm in love with him?"

Louis shrugs. "Are you?

"Jesus Christ, Louis. Fucking hell. Are you fucking kidding me? I can't -- No, I'm not fucking in love with Nick."

Louis got the answer he wanted, so why does he still feel like this? Harry must be lying; the way he raises Nick to a pedestal can't be friendly. Can it? Louis convinces himself that it can't be. There was no point in asking; Louis' mind won't change. 

"Louis, dammit. Say something."

So Louis does. 

"I don't believe you." His words come out in a croak, and he clenches his eyes shut tighter. Every part of him feels like he had set on fire and put out, and he's what's left. He's all that's left.

"I can't believe you," Harry snaps, and Louis can hear him wipe at his face. "I seriously cannot believe you, Louis. Are you fucking stupid?"

Louis flinches. Yeah, he probably is. 

"If I loved, would I be here right now? Seriously, Louis. Fucking think about it. If I loved him, would I have spent that night making sure you were okay? Or -- or that one time I visited you in Doncaster. If I loved Nick, would I have come? I kissed you that day. And you kissed me back. And I was absolutely heartbroken when you pushed me away. But here the fuck I am, again, and you're asking me if I'm in love with _Nick_?"

Harry takes a heavy step closer. "I told myself I wouldn't do this," Harry breathes out, sounding stressed. "I told myself that it'd be, like, taking advantage if I just -- came back. Came back to us, when you're like this. But fuck, Louis." Another step, and another, and another, and Harry is close. Really, really close. Louis can felt it. A large hand cups his jaw and Louis flinches, but Harry's hand only follows. "Open your eyes."

Louis does. Harry's eyes are wet and his lip is bitten red. Before Louis can feel bad about making him look that way, Harry is planting a stern, rough kiss on Louis lips. His eyes slip shut again, and he kisses Harry back with just as much force, maybe more. Louis' hands scrabble to clutch onto anything of Harry's, and they find Harry's arm and neck. Harry kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him, and it's much dirtier and much rougher than what they did in Doncaster not too long ago. Harry's motivated with intent and confidence, and Louis with need. 

Louis tries to deepen the kiss by biting on Harry's bottom lip, but it causes Harry to pull away. His hand stays on his jaw, though, so Louis revels in that sensation instead of the lost one. 

"I don't love Nick, okay? I love you, Louis. Always have, always will." Harry sounds awfully serious. "I don't even know how you could think otherwise." Harry tells him to open his eyes again. Once more, Louis obliges. "But I'm being serious when I say we can't, like, do this right now, alright?"

Louis doesn't know what he means, but no, it's not alright. Whatever the fuck it means, it's not alright. 

"You can't just do that," Louis snaps, though there isn't much energy behind it. He fists Harry's shirt in his hands. "I can't do this without you." 

"You can, though," Harry whispers, and he sounds like he means it. "We can't rely on each other for everything, Louis. You need to do this for you. And you won't get better if you think I'm depending on you to be okay. You won't be doing anything without me, alright? We just. Can't like, be boyfriends again just yet. I want us to be just friends for now."

Louis scoffs, looking away. Before he can say anything stupid, though, a voice clears itself from the doorway. Harry looks behind his shoulder, and Louis knows who it is without even looking because Harry smiles. A warm, gentle smile. _I don't love Nick_ , runs through Louis' head, but Louis can't seem to believe it still. 

Nick's voice drips sarcasm when he says, "I don't mean to interrupt, but my face is kind of bleeding and you don't have the first aid kit in your bathroom like a normal person." Nick has ever right to be angry, but Louis' still annoyed.

He gently pushes Harry away and walks towards the kitchen cabinet. He keeps the kit in his kitchen because that's where he normally gets hurt (he's not a good cook, okay?). The whole time, he's sure to avoid looking at Nick's face. He can't face what he did. He doesn't know why, but Louis almost thought Nick would give him a free-pass. You can't just hurt someone for nothing and get away with it, though; not even in a situation like this. 

Louis has to stand on his tiptoes to reach the highest cabinet, but he finally grasps the white box and pulls it down. He stares at it in his hands for a moment, takes a deep breath, and moves towards Nick. He keeps his head down the entire time, and he can feel both Harry and Nick staring at him. Once he sees Nick's stupid socked feet in his vision, he shoves the kit towards Nick, hoping to get away with it. 

Nick grabs it, but no. Louis' not going to get to avoid this whole thing. "Hey." Nick's voice is oddly smooth and comforting, and what the fuck -- does Nick hate Louis or not? He changes his mind every two seconds, Louis swears. "Look at me."

Louis doesn't move at first. He stares at his feet, and then his eyes shift to the first aid kit in Nick's hands. He can do this, he thinks. He can do it. He looks up for a have a second, and then instantly he looks away again. It was a long enough to catch the blooming bruise on Nick's cheek and his nose dripping with blood. It's not too bad, but it's there, and Louis wants to take it back so badly, even though he knows he can't. 

He can't take anything he's done back. He thought this would give him control, but shit. He lost any sense of control over himself the minute he opened his mouth. 

"I'm not mad," Nick says, and Louis doesn't believe him. "Seriously, Tomlinson. As long is my nose isn't broke, I don't care. I'll heal in a week or two. It's more than you can say about yourself."

It sounds harsh, but it's true, so maybe it should've been said. Louis finds it difficult to believe this is what Harry has been dealing with, though; he always thought of Harry as delicate, and if this is how Nick treats people, then Harry would've shattered a long time ago. Maybe Harry isn't as small and defenseless as he thought. Maybe Louis was what was the one keeping Harry small and defenseless.

The idea makes his stomach roll, and without a word, he leaves the kitchen and heads up to his room, determined to sleep away the rest of his horrible day. 

-

When he wakes around seven p.m., Harry's curled up in bed next to him, focusing intently on the book he's reading. His eyebrows are furrowed and he's chewing on his thumb nail, so whatever he's reading must be getting intense. He's lying on his side against the pillows, facing Louis, so it doesn't take him long to realize that he's awake. 

"Oh, hey," Harry murmurs softly, putting his book on the side table immediately, not even taking the time to bookmark his spot. He gives him a gentle smile. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not sick," Louis grumbles as he sits up. "I feel fine. Why wouldn't I feel fine?"

"I don't know. Thought maybe your hand would hurt from, you know, punching my best friend."

Louis huffs out a breath. He deserved that, he did. 

Harry shuffles closer to him in bed, his smile slipping into a frown. He bumps his hand against Louis' knee intentionally and gives him a serious look. "Nick won't tell me what happened. So, like. What happened? Why'd you hit him?"

Louis stays silent. He can't tell Harry the truth, and lying to him is too much work right now. 

"Please tell me," Harry pleads in a whisper. "I don't -- I don't want to not trust him, but if you don't, I -- "

"He didn't do anything wrong," Louis mumbles, and then he stands. He turns to look at Harry, who looks worried and exhausted, and gives him a tired smile. "He just got on my nerves, and I overreacted, okay? Don't start doubting him because of me. Like you said: he's your best mate."

"Are you sure? You're not -- I don't need you to protect me anymore."

Louis scoffs at that. "I've never been able to protect you from anything, Harry," he denies, because what a stupid thing to say after everything that happened. "But yes, I'm sure. Nick's trustworthy. He's an asshole, but he's good for you. I promise I'm not lying."

Before Harry can say anything, Louis leaves the room and goes downstairs. 

-

Harry takes care of him in ways that Louis wasn't expecting him to. 

First off, he forces him -- _forces_ him -- to do the basics, like eating three times a day and drinking enough water and showering every night. Louis had been so annoyed at first, feeling like the way Harry was babying him was a bit offensive, but then he realized that he kind of needs that extra push. 

But then there are the afternoon walks, the late night conversations outside in the cold, the mandatory reading-for-an-hour-before-bed rule. And God, it's painful to sit there and force himself to read a book he doesn't give a fuck about, but it makes him focus on something and it gives him short-term goals and it makes him feel these little flickers of pride when he finishes a chapter. 

It's very apparent that Harry's been through this all himself before. He knows when to push and how hard, and he knows not to stay stupid things like _well, it's over now._ He doesn't get upset when Louis lashes out or cries. He doesn't make a big deal out of nightmares. He's calm and understanding and just so, so kind. 

Above everything else, Louis' thankful he has someone to talk to who's been through the exact same thing he has. His and Harry's stories are identical, and so are a lot of the emotions they're feeling. 

"Are you happy he's in jail right now?" Louis asks tonight, because he has to know. He wants to know if Harry gained anything out of this whole explosion that Louis set off. 

Harry shrugs next to him. They're sitting outside on the deck's steps, the blanket beneath them doing nothing to prevent their arses from freezing. It's nearly eleven, and it's stupidly cold, but Louis is content. 

"He's not in jail, is he," Harry murmurs. He's looking straightforward. At what, Louis doesn't know. Maybe there's nothing. "He's out on bail, still enjoying the world. Still enjoying the freedom."

Louis feels something harden in his chest. "Not for long. He's not -- there's no way he's getting out of this."

Harry leans back and nods once. Even in the dark, Louis can make out how serious his expression is. "There's too many of us. He knows it's over, his lawyers know it's over, his family. If he were smart, he'd kill himself now."

"God, I fucking hope he doesn't. He doesn't get to take the easy way out."

Harry shrugs again and leans back on his elbows. He looks to Louis, the porch light allowing them to see some of their faces. "You must know he'll probably get murdered in prison. Quickly, too."

"Christ," Louis whispers, because Harry's right. He hadn't even thought of that. 

Harry sits up again and grabs Louis' shoulder tightly. He shakes him once, gently, and Louis looks at him. "Either way, he gets to die knowing that Louis Tomlinson had the power and guts to destroy his entire life. That he fucked with the wrong kid." 

It doesn't feel as good as Harry probably thinks it will, but Louis has a feeling that it will, with time. 

"I am proud of you, you know," Harry says, leaning in closer. They might kiss, they might not. Harry kind of calls the shots with that. Not that Louis doesn't have a say, he does, but there's literally never a time in his life that he's not wanted Harry to kiss him. Ever. 

"Thanks," he murmurs hoarsely, not quite believing him. 

"I am," Harry insists. "You faced your biggest fear, and you did it for _yourself_. That's a hard thing to do. I couldn't do that, not now, not ever. If you didn't come out with it, I never would've told the world. Never."

"Because you wanted your business to be private."

"Because I was ashamed of myself," Harry corrects quickly. His thumb digs into Louis' shoulder. "Because I was scared that he was right. That if I ever told someone, my career would be destroyed. That no one would believe me." He sucks in a sharp breath. "I couldn't take the idea of them not believing me."

Louis nods. He understands that feeling all too well. Harry leans in closer, and instead of kissing him, he sets his head on his shoulder and sighs quietly. He curls into Louis' side, his body heat and general presence making Louis warm up quickly. 

"I promise I'm going to fix things with Zayn," Harry says, after a long moment. It's random, but Louis doesn't question it. 

"Good. Same with me and Nick."

It makes Harry let out an actual laugh. "Please. The day you and him get along is the day the world is officially over."

"Hey," Louis says mildly. "We've been civil for the last few weeks." Nick went back home a little while ago, but they text. About Harry, mostly, but it still counts. 

It goes quiet again, and Louis' thankful for it. It feels nice like this. With Harry close to him and his blood sober and the night around them. He just wants to take it all in, because if there's one thing he's learned from this, it’s that things don't stay good for too long, and it's important to cling on to the times his heart doesn't hurt. 

"I love you," Louis says, just before they're about to get into bed. Harry pauses, one of his legs under the covers and the other still standing, and Louis doesn't back down. "I know you said we can't be together right now, but that doesn't mean I can't tell you that I love the fuck out of you, does it?"

Harry smiles at him, a little shy. He gets into bed and under the covers completely before responding. "I love the fuck out of you too, Louis."

Out of pure luck and coincidence, Louis doesn't have a nightmare that night, but when he wakes, he can't help but take it as a sign that this time, now that they're free, will be the time they get it right.


End file.
